The Fallen
by WandererInTime
Summary: The Mara has risen. As darkness and chaos consume the universe, the Doctor and Charlie must face one final challenge. Perhaps it's time to stop running… (Twelfth Doctor Adventures 10)
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes:**

**Part 10 in the Adventures of the Twelfth Doctor and Charlie Drake, concluding the Nightmares/Real arc. The end is coming for the Doctor and Charlie.  
**

* * *

_Previously…_

The Doctor and Charlie Drake. They were on an adventure – an adventure of a lifetime. The TARDIS was the perfect escape from the dreadful mundanities of their respective cultures, and the perfect escape from the secrets they both harboured.

The Doctor's curiosity had gotten the better of him. He knew Charlie had a secret, intrinsically linked to the boy's desire to travel in time. Connecting Charlie to the TARDIS telepathic circuits had taken them to a temple on a desolated planet in a far flung corner of the universe.

A treacherous journey into the temple led them to its heart; they discovered that this old ruin was not merely a temple, but a prison. It was a prison for a creature of nightmare, known to many as the Mara. And it was here that Charlie's secret was revealed.

Charlie's best friend had died. He just wanted him back – and he was prepared to go to great lengths to do so.

Charlie had betrayed the Doctor's trust. And the Mara had destroyed him.

The Doctor had watched as the Mara took control of his body; poisoned his mind and rewrote his DNA.

The Mara had taken the boy's molecules, and transformed them into a new body. The image of the Mara.

_"This is my grave and my cradle. My prison and my freedom. Witness my rebirth, Doctor. Witness my return!"_

* * *

_"Every child throughout the cosmos will dream…"_

Now, the Doctor was running, scared.

_"And the dreams… will turn to nightmares…"_

The origin of nightmare was closing in on him. He needed to get away. Get back to the TARDIS.

_"I am the Mara, and I have returned."_

He had made a terrible mistake. The Doctor's desire to uncover Charlie's secret had unearthed the Mara. His old enemy had been buried within Charlie's consciousness all this time.

_"You will bow before my majesty."_

And now he was dead.

_"You will worship me. You will fear me."_

Charlie was gone.

_"Yes, old man. Run. Run for your life."_

He couldn't save him.

The TARDIS!

Sanctity. The one safe space in the universe.

* * *

The Doctor had run billions of light years across the universe – past dying star clusters, burning supernovae. Through entire star systems forming in clouds of dust; skimming across the event horizon of a gaping black hole.

The Doctor now sat atop the TARDIS, watching, waiting. Listening.

He looked on, fingers locked together beneath his nose, as the Earth slowly revolved below him.

The planet was shrouded in darkness. The lights from every city glittered across the surface, outlining the continents. He knew that every man, woman and child down there would be lying awake, too scared to close their eyes.

He had fled back to Earth, but it wasn't safe. The nightmares were here, too. UNIT had almost fallen to the Doctor's nightmares, made real by the Mara.

Kate had told him a lot about his friend.

He had needed some time to reflect on what he'd discovered. He was beginning to understand who Charlie really was… _had _been.

That insight wouldn't do him any good now.

The Doctor's eyebrows scythed deep into his features when he spotted a Dalek invasion fleet emerge from behind the moon.

His jaw dropped, horrified at the prospect of a hundred thousand merciless Dalek ships, each wielding enough firepower to devastate the world in seconds.

_Now?_ Of all the times for his deadliest foes to strike? Were the Daleks really that desperate to annihilate the Doctor and his favourite planet?

He leapt down from the roof of the TARDIS, and propelled himself inside, taking a moment to adjust to the ship's gravity.

As he strode towards the console with fierce determination, he snapped his fingers; the wooden doors slammed shut behind him.

The Daleks were a tangible threat – one he could deal with. He would find a way to stop them. He knew their weaknesses. He was the Doctor.

As he hammered on the console, sending the TARDIS soaring across the Earth's atmosphere, something strange happened.

The Daleks simply turned around, and went away.

The Doctor stopped, puzzled.

What were they? A nightmare from inside his mind? Visions created by the Mara, toying with the evil he had witnessed; taunting him with the most terrifying creatures in all of creation?

If this was the best the Mara could show him, then, the Doctor noted with a glimmer of contentment, it couldn't quite read him. It couldn't quite fathom his worst fears.

The Doctor halted the flight of the TARDIS. Took a deep breath.

He didn't know what he should do.

He closed his eyes, head bowed, muttering:

_"No nightmare shall plague me… until they have swum through all the waters… that flow upon the earth… and counted all the stars… that appear in the skies…"_


	2. The Dark Place of the Inside

_"You will not escape from me."_

_"Do you know what I am?"_

_"I know what you are."_

_"You've hidden something, locked it so deep inside, yet it invades your thoughts every waking moment."_

_"Your one greatest regret. Your greatest fear, revealed in a moment of weakness. One I will not hesitate to exploit."_

_"Do not think you know me. Do not think you can stop me."_

A sensation of a sharp object - a key – sliding into your forehead, just above the bridge of your nose.

You are powerless to stop it.

With a twist of the key, the pain comes flooding out.

You begin to lose all sensation. Your thoughts and your memories ebb away. They belong to someone else now.

You are drawn down, deep into a state of mindlessness, as the piercing snake eyes delve into your soul.

* * *

_Three months earlier…_

Charlie Drake had never been to a party where he hadn't wanted to be somewhere else. This party was no exception.

There were thirty or more people crammed onto the makeshift dancefloor in the middle of someone's living room.

Blaring music, unfamiliar to him.

The musty smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the air, invading his throat.

Overheating multi-coloured disco lights dancing and strobing across the ceiling, allowing short, vague glimpses of the faces of teenagers shuffling back and forth across the floor.

But that wasn't all, as Charlie sidled along the back wall dodging elbows and flailing arms.

A drunk sixteen year old threw up in a potted plant. A girl and her boyfriend were locked in each other's arm on the sofa, completely oblivious to the crowd around them, making inexplicable noises.

This place was so human. So ordinary.

In amongst a bunch of kids trying to have a good time, Charlie was alone. In an alien world where he didn't belong.

One of the lads from maths had thrown this party at his mum's house (Charlie wouldn't be surprised if she knew nothing about this), celebrating the end of mock exams.

He would never have come out, if Nate hadn't practically dragged him here.

He had only survived ten minutes trapped in the raving crowd of alcohol-fuelled horny teenagers, before he retreated to the kitchen, which was thankfully empty, and significantly cooler.

It was a little quieter, but he could still feel the bass of the music pounding through the walls.

He perched on the edge of a black marble kitchen counter, and stared out of the window, lost in the gleaming eye of the waning moon. Completely unaware that there was a future version of Charlie standing on the lunar surface, looking back at the Earth, reliving this very moment.

Completely unaware of the Moonbase, and the imminent Arachnid attack. And all the other adventures with the Doctor that followed.

It was a short while later that the door swung open, rebounding off the doorstop with a dull _whump_.

It startled Charlie, tearing him away from his thoughts, and bringing his attention back to Nate, who seemed alarmed that he had opened the kitchen door so forcefully, and was now trying to rectify his clumsiness by closing it with an overzealous amount of care.

"There you are," Nate slurred, throwing him a sideways smile. "Been looking for you for, like, the last fif… uh… yeah, twenny… for the last twenny minutes."

Nate was hideously drunk, Charlie realised with an internal sigh.

"Right," Charlie returned his grin, "You didn't think to look in here first?"

"Aww, come on, I'm not that smart," Nate protested, "You know me."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Charlie threw an accusing stare. "How many drinks have you had?"

"Uh…" Nate struggled to answer, performing a complex series of calculations in his head – judging by his intense efforts at concentration, "I lost count."

"Jeez, man."

"Yeah, I might've gotten a bit carried away," Nate murmured, downcast by Charlie's reaction. "Again."

Charlie sighed, watching Nate as he swayed from side to side for a moment, staring back at him.

"You not enjoying this party?" Nate asked him after a while.

"What gave it away?" Charlie muttered sarcastically.

Nate frowned, answering sincerely. "You're alone."

"Rhetorical question, Nate," he replied softly.

"Oh right yeah," Nate quickly murmured, his eyes darting away in embarrassment.

"_You_ seemed to be enjoying yourself," Charlie remarked with a grin, in an attempt to dodge Nate's awkward response.

"Hmm?" Nate's lips pursed, drawing out his sharp cheekbones as he tried to fathom the meaning behind Charlie's statement.

"Dancing?" Charlie hinted.

He had last seen Nate dancing amongst a group of girls, all laughing and giggling. Nate was throwing down some… well, 'pretty sick moves', as they say. They were encouraging him, and although it was difficult to see the crowd under the flashing lights, Charlie was fairly sure someone had been videoing them.

"Oh yeah," Nate grinned, his eyes crinkling mischievously – as they often did when he and Charlie teased each other. "You should be out there dancing, too."

Charlie smirked, and shook his head in amusement.

He often found himself a little jealous of the way Nate always seemed so at ease with himself. Dancing was not something Charlie felt comfortable doing in public (or at all). It was like being naked.

"Nah, you know dancing's not really my thing." He shrugged. "Anyway, those girls seemed to like you. Thought I'd leave you to it."

Nate's grin was snatched away.

"They were making fun of me," he grunted.

"Oh," Charlie uttered, a little surprised, struggling to match Nate's testimony up to the evidence he had seen.

"They were trying to get me drunk," Nate explained dismissively, "Make me do something crazy…"

"No, I doubt…" Charlie caught himself.

What was he going to say? That he doubted anyone would be unkind enough to do that? He knew that wasn't true.

Charlie was well aware that Nate had a tendency to overreact at the best of times. He got emotional very quickly. And people at school frequently took advantage of that.

"I think they hate me," Nate almost whispered, shaking his head.

"Nah, I…" Charlie tried – and failed – to protest.

Nate took a few steps forward – and then staggered sideways. He stopped, taking a hold of himself.

"I think I need to…" Nate murmured, gesturing at the space beside Charlie on the kitchen table.

Charlie shuffled over slightly, and Nate sat down with the grace of a sack of potatoes.

_Man_, Charlie thought acerbically, _he really was drunk_.

Nate clamped his fingers around the bridge of his freckled nose for a moment, then leant heavily against Charlie.

Charlie made to react, but quickly realised that Nate was barely able to stand up, so he let him lean there.

"You know that feeling you get when you're stilling… when you're sitting still, but the whole room's rushing towards you?" Nate muttered.

Charlie threw a sideways glance at him, the muscles in his neck tense. "No…? You're not going to be sick, are you?"

"Only if you say 'sick'," Nate muttered with a grin.

"I think you've had enough to drink."

Nate laughed softly. "You always look after me, Charlie."

Charlie couldn't help but smile – but it didn't last.

"Don't know how much longer for," he mused.

Nate paused, shooting him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

Charlie inclined his head in a shrug.

It wouldn't last. Life moved on. Took you to new places. And then everyone here would forget about him. Even Nate.

Wouldn't it be easier then? Easier to move on with nothing keeping you in the old place?

"Well, you know," Charlie reasoned, "I've got university next year. I don't really want to stay here. I just want to… get out, you know? Leave this place behind."

"I know what you mean," Nate added quietly. "I just… I don't want you to go."

His voice was strange. Charlie couldn't quite describe how.

"Is this why were you saying you thought those girls liked me? You try'na get rid of me?" Nate murmured.

Charlie looked at him. Nate was still quite drunk, but at least he seemed more in control of his words now.

"Nah. I just thought… I dunno… that you were trying to impress one of them?"

"Well…" Nate croaked, defensively. He looked as though he was about to say something else, but didn't.

"Do you fancy one of them?" Charlie guessed.

Nate looked up at him, almost disgusted. "One of those girls? No! Do you?"

"Uh, no, I guess not."

He thought about them for a moment. Dressed and heavily made up like they were trying to impress some guy. Trying too hard to impress…

Charlie halted that train of thought. Was that rude? He felt like that might be sexist, or something?

"Not really my type," Charlie concluded.

"Well, what is your type, then?" Nate asked him.

Charlie frowned, but he seemed genuinely curious. "Hold on. I thought you hated talking about this sort of thing?"

He had vivid recollections of Nate's angry outbursts about relationships, and people being in them just for the sake of it, whenever they witnessed 'public displays of affection' in the common room.

"Well, it's different with you, isn't it?" Nate mumbled.

"Is it?"

"Yeah. I actually give an f. Go on. What's your type?"

Charlie's mouth crumpled into what must have been a thoughtful grimace. "I don't really know."

"So there's never been someone?" Nate ventured. "Someone you really like?"

Charlie scratched the back of his neck. It took him a moment, but there was someone in his life he had actually considered asking out.

"Well, maybe… one person."

"Oh? Who?" Nate pressed him, gaping at him with an intense look in his eye.

The only person Charlie could bring to mind was the girl in his class. But that ship had sailed a while ago now. He barely spoke to her anymore, unless he absolutely had to.

At a loss for anyone else, he went through with it.

"I thought maybe. You know Livvy? She's in my physics," Charlie hastily explained. "I think I liked her."

Nate grunted. "Really?"

"Yeah. Well, I thought I did," Charlie answered, trying to get this thread of conversation over with as quickly as possible.

"_Did?_" Nate queried.

"It's just something she said. Like, it turns out she wasn't who I thought she was…"

"She _is_ really shallow," Nate growled, twisting into a more comfortable position against Charlie's shoulder – which was less comfortable for him.

"What do you mean?"

"She talks about everyone behind their back. Makes out like she cares about things, but doesn't really," Nate practically spat.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Charlie conceded, after a moment.

"She's like those girls out there," Nate said, in a hushed, bitter tone. "If they're not doing whatever they're doing for themselves, they're trying to impress their 'peers'."

Nate made an air quote sign with his free hand. His other arm was trapped between the two of them.

"Well. What's your type then?" Charlie returned the question.

"How d'you know I _have_ a type?" Nate muttered, mock-offended.

Charlie grinned. "Well, it's kinda obvious from what you just said."

"Hmm…" Nate mused. A familiar, mischievous smile returned to his lips. "Maybe I _do_ have a type…"

"All right?"

"Someone… nice."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed.

"Kind… "

"Well, of course."

"Funny. Clever. And really, really _hot_," Nate uttered suggestively.

It made them both smile.

He would miss this, when he went to university. He would miss hanging out with his best friend. He didn't want it to be over, even though it would be quite soon.

Nate suddenly seemed fascinated by the toggle hanging from Charlie's hoodie.

His voice dipped: low, dejected. And very far away – as though his thoughts were taking him somewhere else. Away from this godawful party.

"I don't think I'll ever find that person."

"Really?"

"I don't think anyone would love me."

"I don't know about that," Charlie dismissed him.

"No?"

"No."

A moment hung in the air between them. Charlie wasn't sure what to fill the void with.

"I'm sure there's a nice girl out there somewhere," he said cheerfully.

"Yeah…" Nate grunted.

He dropped the toggle he had been playing with. It swung back and forth for a few seconds, until Charlie clamped his hand against it, to stop it moving.

Nate didn't seem to believe him.

Charlie could see it though. He could imagine Nate being happy with someone he really cared about.

He'd always known Nate to be kind and fiercely loyal. _And _he was quite handsome. Charlie was certain he'd find someone.

Himself, on the other hand, he had serious doubts about. He had never any strong feelings for anyone – not like that. And he was always hideously uncomfortable whenever someone hinted at the idea.

Maybe he wasn't ready for a relationship yet. Maybe he just wasn't interested. There were better things to think about, as Nate often said. University, for one.

Charlie was acutely aware of an awkward silence between them, which was dragging on for some time.

Nate suddenly sat up straight, and looked at him. His blue eyes were hazy, tired. As if, Charlie later realised, he no longer really cared about anything.

"Do you remember how we became friends?" Nate asked.

"Uh, yeah," Charlie began, without really considering how his sentence was going to end. Hadn't they been friends since like, always? "We… weren't we in the same maths class?"

Nate continued to stare at him, without speaking.

His stomach caved in, suddenly becoming a hollowing black hole. Was he wrong? He had forgotten! _Crap._

Charlie scratched the back of his neck, and started again.

"No, of course, we didn't talk until-"

"Until you saved me," Nate muttered softly. Charlie met his eyes.

Charlie puffed out a _'well…'_

"I picked you up off the floor after those year nines stole your lunch money."

Nate smirked. "Seems so trivial now, doesn't it?"

"_Trivial_," he pondered, "Never used words like that before then. I must have seemed like an idiot to you."

Charlie shook his head. "No. I've never seen you as an idiot. And there's nothing _trivial_ about being bullied."

Nate took a deep breath. "I just. I never… I just wanted to thank you for it. I never did."

"You don't…"

…_have to thank me for anything…_

The words were trapped in Charlie's throat.

Nate's mouth twitched. "I don't think I'd still be here if it weren't for you."

Nate looked away for a second, nervously playing with ring, running his fingernail across the engravings.

Charlie was about to question what he meant, when he noticed a weird change in Nate's eyes. His deep blue irises, still a little unfocussed, were drawing him in. They seemed to shine; he wasn't sure if they were happy, melancholy, or both.

He didn't realise what Nate was trying to tell him.

He didn't expect Nate to lean forwards, and kiss him.

Nate had placed his hand on his cheek, and Charlie felt Nate's lips press against his. He kissed him so gently that it made Charlie's head spin.

Time seemed to slow down, and Charlie's mind exploded with words, thoughts, feelings, and questions.

What? How? Why?

He didn't know. He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know what this meant.

Confused, Charlie scrambled away, almost falling off the table in the process, and regained his balance by backing up against the kitchen cabinets.

Shock was plastered across his face.

Nate – his best friend – had just kissed him.

"What the hell?" he gasped.

He was gay? Nate was gay?

And he'd just gay-kissed him?

Nate read his expression, and turned away, shaking his head in slow, acute arcs, angry with himself. Finally, he hung his head, and his eyes were lifeless.

"What… what was…?" Charlie breathed.

"I'm sorry," Nate muttered. His voice shared the same vitality as his eyes. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Are you…"

"It's not 'cause I'm drunk," Nate replied, looking into his eyes. He was telling the truth. "You're the only person I care about anymore. I don't know how to say this, but…"

He rubbed his eyebrows. "Since we met, I've felt something."

There was a painfully long pause, in which neither of them moved. Charlie was completely dumbfounded, almost fearing what Nate was about to say.

"I love you, Charlie. You're my best friend and I love you."

His voice shook, as if the words were physically painful to utter.

Nate stared at him for a moment, then turned sharply away, thrusting his fist under his nose, in a failed effort to prevent the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

Charlie wanted to go over, stop him from crying – like he used to when Nate had been upset after a particularly tough day at school.

But that was a long time ago. Now he couldn't move. He didn't know what to do.

"Are you… is this some kind of joke?" Charlie asked, and immediately wished he hadn't.

This wasn't a joke. Nate was being more serious than he had ever known him to be in his life. Nate was hardly ever serious. He was always trying to be funny. _This _unsettled him.

Nate simply laughed. And it was the scariest, most emotionless laugh he had ever heard.

"That's what this is to you? I'm a joke to you?" Nate growled, angrily clawing at the tears streaming down his face.

"No, No!"

Charlie tried to explain himself. "I don't… want those guys out there to pick on you just because you're…"

He couldn't quite say it. He couldn't quite say the word, and didn't know why.

"Because I'm what?" snapped Nate. "Because I'm _gay?_"

"Guess what, Charlie. They already do!" He yelled at the tiled floor.

"I didn't…"

"I've hidden that from you, Charlie," Nate uttered despondently, his words slow and slurred again now. "Because I'm ashamed. I thought _you'd_ understand."

"Okay, you're… you're _gay_, I get it," Charlie nodded enthusiastic. He made to step forwards, but Nate swung towards him.

He was trapped. In this nightmare – where Nate was unleashing his fury on him.

"No, you don't. You don't have any idea!" Nate's voice rose, frustrated. "I've been trying to tell you. For years." Every word was like a stab to the chest.

"I never realised…" Charlie's response was pathetic.

"Years, Charlie. I've hidden this. Maybe I should have told you sooner, maybe I never should."

Then Charlie said something stupid.

"You're not making this easy for me."

Nate lost it.

There was a moment in his eyes; a spark, which lit an inferno of rage.

"Easy?" he roared. "For you?"

Nate didn't move towards him. Instead, he seemed to shrink against the kitchen table.

"This last year has been hell. This is our last year of school. I have no clue what's gonna happen next. I'm failing at everything. My parents hate me. _Everyone_ hates me."

He swung his arm furiously toward the door. The music was still pounding out there. Nobody could hear what was going on in here.

"Everyone out there hates me, because I'm just some…"

He caught his breath in a sob.

"It's broken me. Not knowing if I could tell you. Scared I'd lose you if I did."

The edge of Nate's fury wore away. His tone was softer, but he was still livid.

"I can't handle the thought of you not liking me.

"And now it's happening," Nate ventured. "Isn't it?"

Nate searched him, but Charlie couldn't respond.

"I was only holding on, because… Because I thought…"

The rage was gone. Nate was crying again.

"I thought you liked me?" he managed.

Nate stopped. Stopped caring.

"Forget it," he murmured, defeated. "Doesn't matter…"

Charlie couldn't move. He didn't know what to do. He was frozen. He was petrified. The handle on the cupboard door pressing into his back was the only sensation he could feel.

_Do something, _he screamed, in his mind.

_It doesn't matter what. Just tell him you care. _

_Tell him something._

_Don't just stand there!_

Time stopped.

Charlie couldn't breathe.

The kitchen around him dissolved. The tiles cracked, and fell into a deep, dark chasm. The cupboards splintered and imploded violently, as the world faded into darkness.

Charlie desperately wanted to reach out, to do something – anything.

He was being torn away from the past – back to the here and now.

He was so close to saving Nate. He was right in front of him. He _had_ to break out of this memory. Change it. Show that he cared.

But Nate was falling away from him, vanishing in the dark. His burgundy t-shirt was the last thing Charlie saw of him.

Charlie fell to his knees, and stared into the void, empty.

The scene had been played to him, real as the day it had happened. And he had been powerless to stop himself saying the stupid things he had said.

He was completely and utterly defeated.

He started crying. He couldn't stop himself.

Charlie had relived this moment a thousand times. He wanted nothing more than to go back; erase the moment Nate decided that nothing mattered any more.

He wanted his best friend back.

* * *

_Now…_

"Oh…" a smooth, yet cold and sinister voice breathed. It might have been female, but Charlie couldn't say for certain. "It seems I have unearthed your… nightmare. You buried it so very deep, and now I see everything…"

Charlie looked up, into the darkness, exhausted. He was too drained to respond.

He was on his knees before this thing. The voice had shown him this vision.

"You've dreamt it so many times, but each time… it is different. Except for the end," it hissed, "You can't change it. No matter how hard you try…"

Charlie blinked, the last of the tears escaping him. The voice was familiar, but his head was spinning and aching too much for him to concentrate.

He moaned: "Who _are_ you…?"

"I'm from the Dark Places of the Inside. I am all that you fear. I _am_ your nightmares!" The voice seemed to echo all around his head.

"Ohh… yeah," muttered Charlie. He looked up, summoning his last ounces of courage and energy to speak up. "No, sorry, I still don't know who you are."

The voice laughed, seeming to pass by his ear.

He flinched, and immediately regretted his half-hearted attempt to stand up to this voice.

Charlie twisted round, following the direction of the snickering taunts, and leapt to his feet when he saw what was behind him.

"You?"


	3. Snakedance With the Devil

"You?"

Charlie couldn't think where from, but he recognised the girl standing in front of him. It felt like he knew her from some other lifetime.

Her name was Samara. Her pale skin shimmered with an ethereal light – a stark contrast to her malevolent black eyes; two dense neutron stars pulsating within a glittering body of constellations.

Samara's ethereal quality did not lessen the threat radiating from her. She somehow had a very physical weight, despite her ghostly appearance.

"Yes…" she hissed, pressing a finger playfully to her lips, projecting an expression of faux innocence.

Charlie could sense that Samara was far more dangerous, and far more frightening than any of the terrors he had encountered with the Doctor.

He knew she was evil. He felt it the moment he laid eyes on her. He reacted with such innate horror, as it conjured up the memories of a whole other reality – an afterlife, where she had destroyed him.

"Now, there is… one thing I don't understand," she spoke, strutting towards him, invading his personal space.

"Why _is_ that your deepest, darkest nightmare? A mere… argument at a party?"

Charlie shook his head. He had no desire to explain anything to her, but he was too scared not to answer.

"I…"

"Tell me…" she whispered, her warm breath caressing his nose.

She touched his chin, and he flinched.

"Is it because he's… _gay?_" she sneered.

"No!" he whispered.

"The idea of which, is an abhorrence in your culture?" Samara simpered.

"No," Charlie's voice was small. He was a mouse at the mercy of a dozen hungry, prowling cats, struggling to make his tiny voice heard.

"I lost my friend," he spoke honestly. "I pushed him away. It was days before I spoke to him again. I avoided him at school. Ignored all his calls."

He hung his head. Bitter tears stung his cheeks, fuelled by fury and self-loathing. "I should have tried to understand, but I was too scared."

Charlie choked on the last of his words, and Samara took over.

"You're scared of your sexuality."

Charlie tried to argue, but instead drowned in Samara's laughter.

"Passion, temptation…" she licked her lips, "Giving in to lust when you know you _really _shouldn't. It's kinda my thing."

Samara stepped away, ascending back into the heavens, like an angel of darkness.

"You fear it. You fear your innermost desires. You fear to love. And I _love_ your fear!" Samara roared, her unblinking black eyes wide with excitement.

She giggled, returning to his bubble of space in an instant. "Maybe I should have been a _Samuel_ instead. Then you'd have stayed."

Charlie ground his teeth in infuriation – and shame, and tried to look away.

But there was nowhere else to look. He couldn't escape Samara's ghostly figure, or her wicked smile.

"Well done, by the way," she simpered, "Escaping that little reality I built for you. I'm _very_ impressed. The Doctor would be _so_ proud."

Charlie frowned.

"I gave you a reality where you could be together with your _'just friend'_ for the rest of existence. And you swapped it for this," she sang, gesturing at the emptiness around them. "Are you sure you made the right decision?"

"Gave...?" Charlie muttered, staring at the space where Nate had vanished, his brows furrowing. "You… _made_ that world?"

"Oh yes!" Samara grinned. "A lot of things were because of me, as you'll soon discover."

Charlie shook his head, struggling to make sense of it. He understood that Samara was evil – powerful. She had made him a world where Nate was back in his life – but why?

"That dream was your ultimate desire. The one thing in the universe you want most – even if it meant reaching beyond death. Your infinite quest…"

A mocking grin.

"...To get your _boyfriend_ back."

"He wasn't… He was just my friend," Charlie quickly mumbled.

"I don't care," Samara sighed. "You're boring me now. _Booooooriiiiiiiing…_"

Her interest was waning. Which meant her interest in keeping him alive was quickly dissipating. He had nothing left to lose. So he might as well ask…

"What is this place?" Charlie glanced around at the surrounding emptiness. "Where are we? Another dream?"

"No," Samara dismissed him, a hint of disappointment evident in her tone. "We're not anywhere."

"What?"

"Welcome to the Dark Place of the Inside," she declared grandly; her captivated, wide-eyed gaze snapped back to him.

Charlie stared back at her, his eyes dead. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Here, you are both existent, and non-existent, simultaneously."

"So I'm Schrödinger's cat?" he uttered acerbically.

Samara's playful gleam evaporated.

"Every molecule of your being is suspended in nothingness," she hissed, "There's no passage of time. We are both never and forever. There's no physical space – we are neither here nor there."

She whipped round, burning furiously, clawing at the air.

"It's torture!" Samara glared at him. "It's my prison."

She stepped back – just one step - and shrugged. "_Was_ my prison. It's yours now."

Samara paused, took a breath, and started humming.

Charlie suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable; his insides turned cold.

Samara's eyes drifted shut, and she began to sway with the discordant sound.

What was she doing? Charlie found Samara's airy movements unsettling.

His neck twitched, and Samara's eyes flicked up to meet his.

She had stopped humming, but the noise was still there. Barely audible – he wasn't completely certain he could still hear it, but that hum was still in his head.

"You're not sure, are you?" Samara enquired, reading his thoughts.

"Who are you?" Charlie demanded. "_What _are you?"

"I am your nightmares!" she hissed, extending her arms in a regal manner, "I am of the Mara!"

"What's the Mara?"

"The most feared being in all the galaxies, once upon a time…"

Charlie nodded at her body. "Not exactly nightmarish, now, huh?" he challenged her.

She threw him a scathing look.

"Oh, Charlie, we've _barely_ scratched the surface."

In an instant, she had grabbed him. Her hands curled around his throat. Her fingers seemed to slither and slide, moist against his skin.

An image of a giant serpent flashed at the forefront of his mind.

"That's you," Charlie realised. "You're-"

Charlie gasped, as Samara's fingers extended, like tendrils, and slithered into his ears. The vines pushed through his skull, exploring his mind.

"…the Mara…" he whimpered.

He pulled away from her hands – they _were_ just hands. But the strangling sensation crawling around his brain was still there.

"You're inside my head," Charlie spluttered, in horror.

The Mara shrugged. "I'm in your head, you're in mine."

"You've been there for… all this time!"

She nodded.

"How did you get there?" Charlie demanded, prodding his temple. "How long have you been there?"

"Oh, dear…" the Mara mocked him.

"It was that first nightmare, wasn't it? The one with the Wraith? Is that how you invaded my mind? When it was… open to another dimension?"

The Mara's eyes glinted, as she scoffed at his naivety.

"No, I _facilitated_ that little interaction."

Charlie shot her a puzzled look. "I don't understand?"

"Oh, sweetie," she laughed, "there's _so much_ you don't understand."

She inclined her head, taking pity on him.

"Shall I explain?"

Without waiting for him to either accept or decline, the Mara continued.

"You were just a weak, pathetic, _little child_, crying his eyes out over some boy at school. Easy prey." The Mara stroked his jawline, her sensuousness making Charlie more and more uncomfortable by the second.

"I saw an opportunity to get a little action, and opened you right up. Lit you up like a beacon, so all those hungry, hungry Wraiths could get through."

"But I stopped them!" Charlie snapped. "I defeated them!"

"Oh, no," the Mara giggled. "No, no, no! Oh, you poor thing. You don't seriously think…"- she laughed –"that _you_ did that?"

"But…?" Charlie's heart sank.

"No, _I_ did," she uttered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You did?" Charlie uttered in disbelief.

"Of course! It got a little bit too close for comfort, I admit. They would have _totally_ killed you."

Charlie frowned. "Then why didn't you let them?"

"Something else came up. Something… _far_ more tempting," the Mara intoned.

"The Doctor?"

"Yes. I made a tactical decision when you ran into the Doctor. You see, he and I go way back. I've lost count of how many times we've destroyed one other."

Charlie struggled to recall his first encounter with the Doctor. It seemed so long ago, now.

"In that moment, an idea struck me. I thought: I can _use_ him. Through the Doctor, I could have all of time and space."

The Mara stretched her arms out in an opulent gesture, reaching out into the darkness, and drawing out every syllable in grandeur.

"Why settle for your world when I can have _every_ world? So I made sure you both survived that little incident with those Wraiths."

"But that was my idea," Charlie grunted.

"What was, sweetie?" She was making him feel like a child.

"It was my idea to use him," Charlie insisted, "Use the Doctor, and… I thought he could bring Nate back."

Charlie fought to understand everything. He was sure that he had made those decisions. How could those thoughts _not_ have been his own?

The Mara frowned.

"You think the Doctor would do that for you? He wouldn't change time for _you_. You're not important."

"I know," Charlie muttered.

"The Arachnids. _The Doctor_ pulled you into that one," the Mara explained, "You survived _them_ because of _me_."

"But…?"

"I crushed that pathetic bug's bones when she tried to make a move on me."

"You… you did, didn't you?"

"You're welcome!" she sang.

Charlie was floundering. His memories were clouded, his thoughts muddled and chaotic. This didn't make sense.

"I got some really nice ideas from that, actually. _Very scary!_"

"I'm not scared of you," Charlie uttered, his voice wavering.

"No?"

"No," Charlie muttered defiantly.

The Mara tilted her head, unmoved. "We'll see about that."


	4. The Edge of Insanity

Charlie couldn't imagine the horrors the Mara could show him. They seemed to be nowhere, in a space that didn't physically exist.

She had powers beyond his understanding, and haad shown him visions which did not make sense.

He was confused, and afraid.

The Mara's shoulders began warping; becoming much broader. Her face melted, reshaping, transitioning through a rippling ovoid as Charlie watched in trepidation.

Then, standing before him, was Nate. A pale apparition – but the same powerful entity belonging to the Mara.

Charlie gritted his teeth, taking a defensive stance.

"How dare you," he spat, bitterness momentarily overcoming his fear.

Nate chuckled.

Charlie glared at the figure of Nate, tensing himself.

"I understand you, now, Charlie. You feel worthless, because I loved you, and you rejected me."

Nate ran a thumb over his creased eyebrows – an action Charlie recognised. Something the Mara had lifted straight from his memories to mess with him. "You don't think you deserve to be loved?"

"You don't understand me!" retorted Charlie. "Nate was my friend."

"Just didn't think of him _in that way?_" the Mara mocked him.

Charlie didn't submit to the Mara's derisions. He turned his head away from the vision of Nate.

He stared into the abyss, and realised that that sound was still there, echoing all around him. It was growing louder; a buzzing white noise. It pounded and pulsated, so intense, it was making his skull throb.

"You can hear it now, can't you?" Nate whispered.

"Hear what?"

"You're not sure what it is, yet...?" Nate realised.

"I can't hear anything," Charlie lied.

Nate laughed. "Your mind and mine are one. So I can tell when you're lying."

Charlie exhaled, resignedly.

The figure of Nate leaned in close to him… intimately close.

Charlie could see himself reflected in Nate's black eyes. He flinched, when Nate reached out to him.

"You _are_ scared of me." Nate grinned.

"I'm not."

A shrug. "You should be."

The Mara was tormenting him with images. Memories. He was burning with anger, but he refused to give in to his turmoil.

"Where's the Doctor?" he asked.

Nate looked playfully down at his hands. He shrugged.

"He's gone."

"I don't believe you."

"You've seen inside his head." Nate's mouth warped into a sympathetic smile. "He's the man that runs away."

"He'll come back," Charlie swore.

"No… I don't think he will. He's lost." Nate looked imploringly at him, with his familiar half-smile. "Charlie, you _knew_ he'd leave you eventually."

Charlie nodded. He couldn't deny that.

"Do you know how many so-called 'friends' he's left behind? He can't even remember how many there were."

Charlie's throat tightened. The Mara was probably right. It was inevitable that the Doctor would leave him behind. But why now? He couldn't believe that the Doctor would leave him here.

"Perhaps he would," Nate answered his thoughts. "You betrayed him. Betrayed his trust."

The Mara was right. There was no way the Doctor would help him after _that_.

"Yeah," Charlie muttered, resignedly. "He's probably gone off in the TARDIS. Stumbled upon loads of new adventures."

He shook his head with a reminiscent smile.

"No," Nate chirped, throwing him a mocking gaze. "He's right here."

Nate's eyebrows rose like mountains. The face aged, elongated, and the figure towered above him, until Charlie was looking up into the Doctor's eyes, blackened like the other images. His face was pale, and his hair pure white.

"I suppose…" the Mara imitated the Doctor's Scottish brogue, "the Time Lord is here, in our head."

The Mara-Doctor waggled his eyebrows excitedly.

"Stop this," Charlie demanded. "Just let me out."

The Doctor threw his head back and laughed.

The sound multiplied all around him, as he exploded into a dozen copies of the Doctor, all surrounding him, laughing. The cackling echoes of the Doctor lingered, even as one of them leaned in close, and began to speak:

"No. I need you in here. I need your hate. I need your anger. I need your _fear_." The Doctor's widened eyes glared at him. "I need your imagination. I need your dreams."

Charlie shook his head, and tried to back away. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up!" There were so many of them. He had the feeling he had experienced this before, but he couldn't fathom when.

The Doctor leant down, so his eyes were level with Charlie's.

He hissed: "_Listen…_"

Charlie frowned, a sense of anxiety broiling in his stomach. The noise… it was becoming louder, clearer. He could make out voices – whispering susurrations.

"Can you hear the children?" the Doctor asked him. "Can you hear them crying?"

Charlie listened, and his eyes opened wide.

The piercing scream of a young girl. The sobs of a small boy. A thousand children. Human, and others, all across the universe. The sum of all their fears, the extinguishing of all their hopes, and dreams, and joy.

They all filled his head, all crying out louder and louder. It was overwhelming. He felt their anguish hollowing him inside.

Charlie yelled, emptying his lungs of their last breath, and lashed out at the Doctor. The figure disappeared in a wisp of white smoke, and dissipated into nothingness.

"There's nothing you can do," the Doctor's voice roared, amidst waves of maniacal laughter.

The voices swirled around and around his head, building up so much pressure that it began to crush his skull.

Charlie tore at his hair in anguish, as the noise of the children swept him up once more.

There was a crack. The harrowing splintering of bone – his bones.

His fingers, trembling, reached up to explore his cranium. A gap. His skull had split open, beneath his skin.

"Oh my god, no."

His kneecaps ruptured, and a jolt of pain erupted through his spine.

He didn't dare look down at his body, as he collapsed face first into something.

And he didn't dare to look around. He could have sworn that he'd been standing up a second ago, but his sense of balance was screaming that he was still upright. His senses were lying. Nothing made sense.

Tentatively, fearing what he would discover, he reached down to feel his legs, but everything was numb. He couldn't be certain if he still had calves, or if they had been torn clean from his body.

He looked back down at his hands, the skin flayed from his muscles – when he realised he didn't have muscles. He had whirring gyros, crunching gears.

He wasn't real. He was an android. A robot. He had been made – a machine, like Kai. His thoughts had been programmed. They were not his own.

"You're not real," the voice screamed at him.

He wasn't.

"You're not real!" they screamed, "You never were."

Do androids dream of electric sheep?

No! No, no, no!

He _had_ to be real. He was a real human, with hopes, and dreams, evaporating as they were.

Charlie fought against the tide of confusing tricks and mind games, threatening to tear his reality away, erase his identity.

Charlie stopped screaming, and doubled over, as a pain burst through his stomach.

No. It wasn't real – it was another of the Mara's tricks.

The burrowing feeling in his stomach grew in intensity, threatening to burn through his flesh.

He was wrenched back into another nightmare, lost in a world of pain and confusion, devoid of all hope and happiness.

"I've got you now. You're _mine._"

Charlie snapped his eyes shut, and threw his arms up to protect his head, as another torrent of horrors bombarded him.

He crashed through something. Perhaps a trapdoor – perhaps not. And fell.

Fractal forms blossomed and burned around him, rewriting his perception of reality.

The Mara was torturing him. He was trapped in a nightmare. And it was a nightmare he wasn't sure he could ever wake up from.

Finally, he collapsed, into a swirling mass of stars. He breathed a sigh of relief, as the pain ebbed away.

He'd been granted a moment of stillness, but he had no idea what it would cost.

Despair swept over him. He watched, as each and every star suspended in the space around him began to flicker and fade. He rubbed his eyes, but when he opened them again, they were all gone. He wasn't even sure he _had_ opened his eyes.

The Mara's harrowing voice filled his thoughts.

_"The Darkness is my prison. It is timeless, it is ageless, yet it is eternal. It never begins, it never ends._

_"I have been trapped here forever. Now you are trapped here forever. You have always been here._

_"The Darkness consumes you. The Darkness feasts on you. The Darkness drives you to the edge of insanity, until you are a part of me._

_"I am many. I am one. Now I am free. I am the _Mara_!"_

His world had ended. The universe had ended. He was the last thing left alive.

The final torture. To survive, when everything he loved was gone.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and tears began to burn him.

"Am I alone?"


	5. One Step Behind

The Doctor was alone.

He was lost. Just as he had been on the darkest days of his childhood, when he'd climbed mountains searching for solace. It had been a long time since he'd felt such hopelessness.

"No," the Doctor growled.

He knew in part these feelings were caused by the power of the Mara raging through the cosmos.

The Doctor knew enough to defy those feelings.

"I am not lost," he called aloud, his voice swallowed up by the vastness of the TARDIS, "I'm just running. I've been running for thousands of years. I've never stopped before. I won't stop now."

The Doctor rubbed his jaw as he paced up and down the console room.

"But I can't just keep running. Not this time…"

He needed help. The Doctor hated to admit it, but he couldn't do this on his own.

Kate Stewart and the forces of UNIT couldn't help him. The Shadow Proclamation were powerless. The Time Lords, god forbid they ever returned to the universe, would never lift a finger to help him.

What he needed was someone who understood the complexities of the Mara. Someone or something which could conceive of a way to stop its reign of terror.

There was one thing he could try, the Doctor thought with a weary smile. There was one group of people who might have the power to help him.

It was time to gear up.

* * *

The TARDIS landed; the Doctor snapped his fingers again, and the doors were flung open.

If Charlie had been with him, he would probably have panicked at the sight of a wall of murky green water pressed up against the TARDIS doorway.

It wasn't something he did often, but the TARDIS was perfectly capable of landing underwater. The ship was powerful enough to withstand the great pressures in the depths of this ocean world.

A protective shield would stop the water flooding in. Should it fail, the infinite corridors of the TARDIS would surely drain all the seas of this planet.

A shoal of strange-looking fish nuzzled around at the edge of the TARDIS' forcefield, their huge light-sensitive eyes curiously blinking, puzzled by the glow coming from the TARDIS console.

They darted away when the Doctor pushed away from the TARDIS, swimming with the grace of a deep-sea predator.

He couldn't survive in these waters – not without special equipment. His diving suit, acquired in strange circumstances on a Hath colony world, ensured he wouldn't boil in these waters.

A powerful torch-beam from his helmet penetrated the depths, diffusing in an odd purple glow, occasionally attracting attention from various wild and wonderful creatures, the likes of which must have been unique to this world.

He was particularly fascinated by a crystalline sphere, around which wind-milling sails orbited.

Startled by the Doctor's approach, it wheeled away, churning up the dusty ocean floor.

The Doctor didn't have time for distractions. He was looking for the Dreamcatchers.

He had never encountered them before. They were difficult to find – but the Doctor knew where to look.

He powered through the water, adjusting his swimming strokes to avoid the churning currents and their whirling vortices.

Shortly, the Doctor reached a coral shelf, among calmer waters. He was pretty sure he was getting close. He glided further along; the water was clearing, becoming less murky, more hospitable.

This place was peaceful – untouched by the Mara's influence.

That was promising. Maybe the Dreamcatchers would be able to help him after all.

Finally, he found them.

They were the most humanoid lifeforms he had encountered on this planet so far.

They were pale, almost luminous, with huge, black eyes, and no other facial features.

Protrusions of fibrous coral material, like a crown, twitched as they glided across the ocean floor.

The Dreamcatchers had no need for mouths, gills, or noses, for they are conscious only in dreams. Their skin absorbs all that they need from the water around them, whilst they live out their lives in a world composed entirely of thoughts.

They swam in groups, holding hands, sharing their dreams, and swaying gently in the underwater currents.

When the Doctor approached, a group broke their circle, and silently welcomed him into the dream. Long, slender fingers curled around his, and the Doctor found himself in another world.

They were still underwater, but now they were drifting through the ruins of a sunken building; the remnants of an ancient civilisation.

The Doctor found that his diving apparatus had vanished. He had no need of it in a dream.

He was simply in his long, dark jacket and shirt.

"Hello," the Doctor uttered. Contrary to his expectations, his voice was clear. He'd expected the water to muffle the sounds he made – but there wasn't any water.

"We have dreamt of you, Doctor," one of them – perhaps all of them – spoke, "We know your tale."

The Dreamcatcher nearest the Doctor inclined its head, and blinked. The eyelids snapped side-to-side, like a camera shutter.

"We know of your many lives, and your latest ailment."

Their circle halted, and the world span around them.

A dizzying projection of the Doctor's nightmares whirled past. Memories of the Wraiths, the Arachnids, of Charlie losing his battle, and the Mara taking control.

The images flickered through his mind, as if viewed through a Victorian zoetrope.

There were so many horrors, nightmares – the Doctor had relived them once too many already. He had no desire to see them again.

The Dreamcatchers seemed to sense his pain, and the visions stopped. They returned to the calming scenery of ancient, submerged ruins.

The benevolent creatures peered at him, expectantly. It was like they were smiling – but he couldn't really tell.

"What ails the physician?"

"I don't know what to do," the Doctor admitted, hoping the group would respond with some answers.

"You have so many allies, yet you come to us," they spoke.

"I have heard legends of your species. They say you can resist nightmares."

The Doctor's expression was fierce, grave. He could see it reflected in the wide, shining eyes of the Dreamcatchers near to him.

"We are what you might call… lucid dreamers. We can influence our dreams."

The Doctor nodded. "It's a skill known by my species."

"But not you?" The creatures mused with increasing curiosity.

The Doctor grunted. "No."

His gaze – momentarily lost in the churning dust darting back and forth across the ground, in an intricate game of tag – returned to the circle.

He looked around at the group, uncertain which individual he should be addressing.

"The Mara… What do you know of the Mara? Can you stop it?"

In flurry of distress, the Dreamcatchers broke off their calm fixation upon him, and glanced at one another.

They turned back to him.

"The Mara threatens all of us. Any conscious mind is vulnerable to its power. It is a virus that spreads throughout all of creation."

"A virus?" the Doctor uttered sharply, his eyebrows twisting, mystified.

"Yes. Spreading its evil misdeeds throughout the universe by the mere knowledge of its existence."

"But can you stop it?" the Doctor implored them.

"We cannot," the group sighed, their words drawn out, slowly, calmly, "We are not strong enough to overcome the Mara. We are only able to protect ourselves."

"So you have some kind of psychic shield? Some natural resistance?" the Doctor conjectured, "Could there not be a way to amplify this…?"

"You are swimming against the flow of gyres," the Dreamcatchers insisted, the image of their world churning with dark, inky clouds, "Were this possible, it would destroy us. Corrupt our world, our lives."

"Of course," the Doctor conceded, "I couldn't do that to you."

"We are aware of the Mara's influence. Let us show you what we see…"

Once again, the world changed.

They were separated from these other worlds. The Doctor and the Dreamcatchers sat inside a bubble, shielding them from the reality of these nightmares.

They could see the fears of people all across the galaxy.

The monsters were waking. Species all across the universe, afraid of one another, witnessed dreams of ruthless invaders: Daleks, Cybermen, Weeping Angels, and Humans.

In amongst all the chaos, on the little planet the Doctor liked to think of as home, where the inhabitants were so imaginative, so creative… there was little hope. Not even the efforts of UNIT were enough to fight the nightmares.

The Dreamcatchers shut the visions out.

"Perhaps there is something you, Lord of Time, can do."

"There's nothing I can do," the Doctor whined. "I don't even understand how the Mara is able to spread its influence across time and space – it's never been capable of that. The power it would need is unimaginable!"

"Hmm…" the Dreamers were quiet for a moment.

"What of young Drake, your companion?"

"Charlie's gone. He's dead. You saw what happened to him."

"No," the Dreamcatchers mused. It wasn't a revelation or a statement fact. It was more of an expression of doubt.

"No?"

"He is dreaming still."

What was that? They could hear laughter.

The entire universe was squandered into nightmare, yet here was a single person, carefree… unafraid… _happy?_

As the Doctor, guided by the Dreamcatchers, explored the instance more closely, he realised that somewhere, on a planet ravaged by interstellar war, a little girl was amused by a strange flower pushing through the devastated earth.

Did that mean…? Charlie _was_ still alive?

He was trapped with the Mara in the darkest place in existence, but he was alive!

"How is this possible?" the Doctor asked, through an incredulous half-grin.

He had seen Charlie's form disappear. The Mara's power would surely have ripped his conscious mind apart?

"He is one of us."

The Doctor frowned. "One of you? Really?"

"In spirit."

"I see…"

"A dreamer."

"Oh, now I actually see," the Doctor exclaimed, excitedly, "His mind is strong, able to coexist within the Mara!"

He turned back to the Dreamcatchers. "Can you help him? Please tell me you can!"

"We cannot," they whispered, sadly.

"Do you know who can?"

"Yes," was the simple answer.

"Who?" The Doctor was almost jumping up and down ecstatically, "Tell me who can help him."

"You, Doctor."

The Doctor's face fell. "No. No, I can't," he admitted, his hearts heavy, "I fear… he won't let me help him."

What the Doctor needed was somebody to break the Mara's influence. Someone who could guide him out of the dream – someone Charlie trusted more than anyone. Did Charlie trust him? Surely not.

There was no way he could get through to Charlie– not after they'd pushed each other's trust to the limits, and shattered it.

But there was one small pocket of hope – if Charlie had been able to reach out of the nightmare, there was a chance to reach back.


	6. Always Fear

_Reality, the present day…_

"Open fire!"

A squadron of heavily armed UNIT soldiers unleashed a hail of bullets at a horde of staggering zombies.

They were the movie kind, Kate Stewart realised, gunning one down without batting an eyelid; decaying flesh hung like rags from their cracking bones.

They had a taste for flesh, and anyone bitten by the creatures became like them. She had lost three soldiers already.

Scanning the area, she noticed a father and his two daughters backed into a corner – surrounded by the ravenous zombies, which were groaning as they advanced. There was no way out for them – the zombies were closing in, blocking any escape.

"Get them out of here!" Kate ordered.

She gestured towards two of her men, and they sprinted towards cover - behind a crudely erected barricade - as they gunned down half a dozen zombies. Once a route was free, the family dashed over the undead bodies, and ducked down behind the men.

Kate saw that the two girls were in tears, despite their dad's best efforts to comfort them. The men returned, sheltering the family.

"Escort them to the Stratford shelter," Kate instructed.

The two soldiers nodded, and led the confused civilians away down the street.

"The area's clear, ma'am," declared Sergeant Matilda Meredith, "Shall we move on?"

Kate was about to pass the order, when she noticed a movement that made her blood boil.

To their collective horror, the fallen zombies began stirring again. They simply stood up, despite the bullets that had pierced their corpses, and began walking again.

Kate turned to a stressed UNIT researcher, tapping furiously on the tablet cradled in his arm. He ran his fingers through his spiky hair in frustration.

"Corporal Hopper!" Kate yelled.

"I – I… ma'am, I'm not sure," he uttered.

"_Anything!_"

The corporal searched desperately for information – for any kind of weakness to exploit in their opponents.

"Remove the heads!" he proclaimed.

"Are you sure?"

"It's all I can find. We need to destroy their brains - sever the nervous system," Hopper managed to speak.

"I think that's from _Shaun of the Dead_," he added, scratching his head.

"It doesn't matter," Kate dismissed. "Arm bayonets!"

A number of the soldiers pulled out their blades and as the zombies came closer, they decapitated the creatures.

This time – to Kate's relief – the zombies stayed down. She glanced over the rotting corpses, her features a grim mask.

"Well done, men," Sergeant Meredith acknowledged, as the soldiers took a moment to regain their composure.

Kate raised an eyebrow, and rounded on the woman.

"Now's not the time to congratulate ourselves, sergeant. The nightmare's not over yet."

"No, ma'am," Meredith agreed, tight lipped. She matched Kate's gaze, aware of her mistake, but ultimately unaffected by her criticism.

The night was young. Kate and her team had already encountered all manner of horrors, but her gut instinct told her that worse was still to come.

The howling of wolves penetrated the cold night air almost immediately. Her fears were not unfounded. The noise sent a chill through Kate's heart.

"Oh, no…" moaned one of the soldiers, lowering his weapon in terror.

Kate's focus snapped on the man.

The whites of his eyes were showing, and he looked fearfully around, unable to distinguish the direction the noise had come from.

From what she understood of the Doctor's explanation, they were experiencing real, solid creatures, brought into being by her own nightmares – and those of the soldiers around her.

Which meant not only were they facing their childhood fears, but many of the alien nasties that had attempted to invade their planet over the years as well.

"Focus!" barked Kate, "They're not real. None of these monsters are real. They're merely manifestations of your fears."

Kate addressed the panicking soldier.

"Pull yourself together, private, or you'll get us all killed."

The soldier nodded, the shame evident in his youthful eyes.

Kate lessened her fierce gaze slightly, and remembered something her father used to tell her, when she was a little girl. It was something he'd learnt from an old friend, he'd said.

"It's all right to be afraid," she said, quietly, "So long as you can face your fears, and do what you have to do."

The soldier stiffened his lip, and nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."

"It's alright, son," Private Martin Stone – the aging UNIT soldier who had helped Kate escape UNIT HQ – added, clapping the young lad on the shoulder. "We're all sticking together. No-one's getting left to face their fears alone."

The wolves howled again, and the soldiers aimed their weapons defensively. Guns pointed in all directions – prepared for an attack from any angle.

Within seconds, a pack of white, thick-furred wolves were bounding down the street, homing in on them in threes, like torpedoes.

She could see their fierce eyes burning yellow, their gnashing fangs tearing at the air, snarling.

Kate whipped her coat aside, and drew her handgun, leading the offensive against the wolves.

A minute passed, and the wolves had all fallen or retreated with yelps and whimpers. They had only lost one man.

She prayed there would be no more deaths, even as Corporal Hopper tapped her shoulder, discreetly relaying messages from other UNIT squads scattered across the capital city. There were Cybermen in Islington, Zygons attacking the docklands. Autons rampaging through Piccadilly Circus and there were even reports of a werewolf stalking the grounds of Buckingham Palace.

"Oh my god…" breathed Sergeant Meredith.

Kate looked up sharply, and followed her gaze.

A giant, flaming snake slithered down the street, its head poised above the lampposts, white hot plasma from its body scorching the pavement.

Kate could feel the heat from the monster, despite being sixty or so feet away from it.

The blazing nightmare was so hot, that the tarmac in the road began to melt into a sticky, black ooze.

Yet another monster. They were appearing one after another. The endless torment of a long and dark night.

Morning was a long way off. She wasn't sure they would all last that long.

"Retreat!" Kate barked, pulling her shoe out of the treacle. She grabbed Corporal Hopper by the arm, and pulled him off the road, and they backed away down the pavement.

The giant serpent roared with laughter, spitting flares of yellow flame from its mouth.

Kate looked on in horror, as one of her men cried out in alarm. It was the young private, tormented by the fear of wolves. He was already sunk down to his knees in the quicksand-like tarmac, flailing as he struggled to move.

"No!" screamed Sergeant Meredith, distancing herself from the edge of the road, unable to move any closer to help.

The other soldiers, rallied by the quick-thinking Private Stone, were trying to find a strong rope they could throw to him, in a failing attempt to save his life.

Kate felt a sickening sensation in her stomach, as the ground swallowed the man up, and the black tarmac bubbled as he disappeared below the surface.

They needed to contain this now, or England would be in ruins by midnight.

* * *

A short distance away, Emily Simmons helped the father and his two daughters through the shelter – a roughly assembled congregation of tents and vans around the old London Olympic stadium, now protected with snaking trails of barbed wire fencing. The clattering of gunfire was a constant ambience, which Simmons had become accustomed to.

She looked up as a shadow fell over the camp, throwing it further into darkness, as the moon was blocked from sight.

Something had come. Something big had come for them.

Simmons whispered a plea. A plea that wouldn't be heard.

"Please, Doctor. Help us."

The Mara chuckled. She slithered through her temple, basking in the glorious sound of the universe crying out in fear. It felt _so good…_

"Can you hear them, Charlie?" the Mara simpered, "Can you hear the lights fade?"

The Mara was part of Charlie, and had been for some time; deeply intertwined with his mind and soul. He was the eye of the storm, the centre of the nightmare. And everyone was part of that nightmare.

Charlie could see the despair, as well. In fact, he _experienced_ it. He swooped down on screaming children. He whispered words into their ears, to frighten them. Terrified parents tried to shield and comfort their young. They were scared of the monsters. They were scared of _him_.

There was nothing he could do, when soldiers opened fire on his form. Bullets tore through him. Flames incinerated him. He yelled at them to stop, but they didn't listen.

Beside him, the Mara laughed.


	7. Always Hope

The lights of the TARDIS were glowing dimly. It seemed she could sense the growing darkness shrouding the universe, and she was trying to comfort the Doctor.

On the lower levels of the console room, the Doctor was hunched over an array of yellowing books and ancient manuscripts.

He had spent hours scanning through the TARDIS index files, and reading through all the religious and mythological texts he had in the library.

There had to be some snippet of information which could bring down the Mara. Some words he could wield as weapons.

But he was learning nothing new. The history books were vague, and confused, and contradictory, when it came to legends of the Mara. The only information he could rely upon were his own experiences with the creature.

He already knew that the Mara loathed its own reflection. Mirrors could weaken it. This would not be enough to halt its onslaught; to halt its ever-increasing strength.

The Mara was also strongly tied to the beliefs and superstitions of its host. Sharing the mind of another living being had its drawbacks. Perhaps there was something Charlie believed in that could be turned against the Mara. Some superstition, some irrational fear.

But of course, Charlie had a passion for physics, for logic. He had a reasoning, scientific mind. He would have dismissed any superstitious beliefs as completely ridiculous without substantial evidence to the contrary.

And after everything he'd been through, the Doctor wasn't sure anything could stir any of the boy's beliefs.

The Doctor was more puzzled by the Mara's existence, and how it came to be on Earth. The Mara was from Manussa. A planet which turned to dust long before the Earth was born.

In the grand scheme of things, the Mara shouldn't even exist on this world.

There was a possibility it had travelled. The Mara had once hidden inside the mind of one of his friends – a remarkable woman who had chosen to stay on Earth instead of travel through time and space with him.

This was mere speculation. He couldn't just guess at a way to stop the Mara. That wouldn't work – not this time. There was too much at stake.

"This isn't good enough," the Doctor grumbled aloud, slamming a dusty tome shut. "I need more. I need _something!_"

* * *

The TARDIS landed, and the Doctor stepped out onto the mosaic tile floor of a large chamber.

He looked up, through a glass dome, at the nearby moon rolling across the starry sky.

This was the biggest Library in the universe. A whole planet dedicated to books. To history, and to stories.

The place was deserted. Silent. It evoked powerful haunting memories, reminding him of even more friends he had now lost.

An ornately carved wooden orb - a security node - drifted towards him, sensing his presence in the Library.

"The Library has been evacuated," it informed him. "No one is allowed to enter. Your presence here is unauthorised."

"It's me," he announced, spreading his arms out in a non-threatening gesture, "The Doctor."

The node considered this for a moment, relaying commands from the central computer core.

"Welcome, Doctor."

The Doctor smiled curtly, and pushed past it to reach a computer terminal. He pulled out the sonic, firing commands to the computer system, searching its vast database for information on 'The Mara'.

"Would you like the assistance of the Librarian?" the node asked him.

"No," the Doctor grunted, waving the sphere away.

"Are you sure about that?" another voice asked.

"Yes I'm – oh…"

The Doctor spun around, about to issue an irritated remark, until he spotted the shimmering figure standing behind him, raised above him on a stone plinth.

She was like a ghost; a holographic projection. This must be 'the Librarian'.

The Doctor stepped away from the computer terminal, and gaped up at her, in shock.

Most people think she's just a user interface program, but nobody knows the secret of the Library. Nobody apart from him.

"Hello Sweetie." The woman smiled her devious smile.

The Doctor didn't answer.

"Where have you been?" she continued. "You never call. You never write…"

"I've been busy," the Doctor snapped.

"Oh, I know," the Librarian winked, her eyes full of cheek and charm. "_You_ can't bear to come back here."

The Doctor shook his head, breaking off his gaze in anguish. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

He took in the sight of the Librarian, and her white linen gown billowing gently in an imaginary breeze.

"This was always going to happen," the Librarian insisted calmly. "There's nothing you could have done."

The Doctor looked up at her. Her holographic green eyes were shining with warmth. She had accepted her fate.

"You saved me, Doctor." She gestured to the books around her. She actually sounded happy, much to the Doctor's surprise. "I exist amongst the most fabulous stories in the universe.

"A lot of them are about you," she added, with a wry grin.

"River," the Doctor breathed, trying to reason with her, but he was too downbeat to argue.

She ignored him, instead flicking idly through a digital copy of _Summer Falls_.

"How's Clara, by the way?" she asked, without looking up from the book. "I notice she's not with you."

The Doctor frowned. He was sure she already knew the answer.

"She's gone."

The Librarian snapped the book shut, and it dissolved in a stream of silver particles. "Gone? _Gone_ gone, or just not with you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," the Librarian shrugged. "It's just a question."

"You're the Librarian," the Doctor replied snarkily, "You're supposed to know everything. Do you know something I don't?"

"I couldn't possibly disclose such sensitive information so indiscreetly," she returned with a shrug.

"What?" the Doctor uttered, his eyebrows twisting incredulously.

"_Spoilers!_"

"Hm," the Doctor grunted, and sat down heavily on a dusty wooden desk, burying his head in his hands.

The holographic figure watched him with a knowing glint in her eye as he sulked.

"Clara's just gone. And I've moved on."

"Ah. The man who never looks back?"

"I didn't come here for a chat."

"No, you never do."

The Librarian stepped down from the plinth, and walked over to him. She sat down on the desk beside him.

The Doctor noticed a small, light-emitting sphere hovering inside her. A portable hologram projector.

She placed her hand on his shoulder – but there was no warmth. It was just light. He couldn't feel anything.

"I've been travelling with someone called Charlie," the Doctor sighed, feeling the beginning of a long and sad story dredge itself up.

"Yes, I know," the Librarian stopped him softly.

Of course she already knew. This wasn't even the real River Song. This was an echo of her. A ghost in the Library's data core. Yet she was still very much… River Song.

"What's happened to all the people?" the Doctor asked, twisting around.

"Everyone's been evacuated," the hologram informed him.

"Where to?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," the Librarian shrugged. "As long as they're not here. There are far better ways to die."

"The nightmares. They're here, too?" the Doctor queried, searching the echoes of her eyes.

"Of course. Nowhere is safe. The nightmares that once haunted this place have returned."

The Doctor examined the room. The ancient filament bulbs were dim, flickering – struggling to stay alight.

"The Vashta Nerada?" the Doctor realised, in horror. He leapt to his feet, quickly studying the marble floor, counting the shadows.

"And more besides. Angels. Silence," the Librarian shook her head. "I'm doing all I can to hold them back. Keep them away from you, at least."

"What about you? And the main computer?"

"There's nothing I can do. The Data Core has been infected," the Librarian insisted. "I don't have long left. I'm sorry, my love."

"No…" the Doctor uttered. A pained gasp. He was losing everything. The Mara was taking everything from him. He cursed his failure, his defeat.

He looked up at the Librarian. Unlike him, she did not seem angry, or frustrated. She had let go of her fears. For what was there left to be afraid of when one was dead?

"I do have long enough to help you, though," the Librarian promised.

"Then tell me about the Mara," the Doctor urged her.

"_You've_ fought this thing before," she murmured, extending a hand to a holographic bubble generated in front of her. She peered into the images of the Mara projected inside the sphere.

The Doctor could tell she was processing all the information the Library held on the creature.

"Yes," the Doctor answered. "Once on a planet called Deva Loka. Once on Trenzalore. A number of times on its homeworld, Manussa."

The Librarian closed her hand, and the bubble disappeared. She turned to him, with a confused expression.

"Manussa?"

"Yes. Manussa. It rose at the height of the Sumaran empire," the Doctor recalled. "It used the power of a psychic crystal to assert its control on the population."

The Librarian shot him an irritated glare. "I'm aware of that – I _am_ part of the largest database in the universe, you know."

"Third largest," the Doctor corrected her. Seeing her appalled expression, he quickly apologised.

"Sorry."

"As I was about to say," the Librarian continued, "The Mara is not from Manussa."

"What?"

"That is only where its power was strongest for the greatest period of time," she explained, as the Doctor pulled up the Library's data screens with the sonic, checking the facts for himself.

"There is no planet of origin. The Mara exists on many worlds. Across many dimensions," the Librarian continued. "In many ways, it's not a physical entity, more of an idea."

"An idea?"

"Yes. One that propagates as long as someone believes in it."

"Rather like religion," the Doctor mused.

"In the sense that it can spread thoughts and ideas throughout an entire population," the Librarian agreed.

"Of course," the Doctor exclaimed, his voice rising in intensity, "Yes, it's a figure of legend. That's how it survives - lurking in the shadows, as long as someone believes in the nightmares."

"Whilst anyone believes in its existence, it exists," the Librarian summarised, "While anyone fears its existence, it is powerful. And it spreads, all across the universe."

"…Like a virus?" the Doctor realised, recalling his aquatic encounter with the Dreamcatchers. The Dreamcatchers had an odd way of speaking. He had assumed their reference to a 'virus' had been metaphorical.

"Exactly."

"But how can you stop something that doesn't follow the laws of physics in our dimension? How can you defeat a myth? An idea?"

"How do you defeat a virus?" the Librarian prompted him.

For a moment, she was not the interface for the biggest library in the universe, but the old River Song once more. The River Song who seemed to know so much about him and his future. The River Song who held all the answers, but frustratingly refused to reveal any of them.

"Are you suggesting… with some kind of ideological antibody?" the Doctor conjectured.

"Perhaps what you need is a single, pure thought," River suggested, "Something good."

"Charlie…" the Doctor breathed.

"He's your way in. He has the strongest link with the Mara."

"Then what?"

"Save him. Save the boy."

"But how? I can't reach him. He's in the clutches of the Mara. I'm not even sure he's still in our reality," the Doctor threw his arms out, pacing the chamber, "Besides, he won't listen to a word I say. Not after what's happened."

River chuckled. She threw her head back, throwing her wide, beaming smile.

The Doctor frowned, troubled as he struggled to decipher her thoughts.

"My god, you are an _idiot_ sometimes," she teased him.

"What? What have I missed? River!"

"_You_ have a time machine."

"I…" the Doctor paused, as the beginnings of a plan began to bloom in his mind. "Yes, of course. Of course! Professor Song, you're a genius."

"Took you long enough."

The Doctor raced back to the TARDIS, without another word.

The doors opened with a commanding snap of his fingers.

The Doctor thrust a lever, his piercing eyes staring deep into the glowing orange light of the Time Rotor.

He nodded, and began to mutter to himself, his confidence in his plan growing:

"I can't save him," he admitted, with a pang of regret, "But I… am the Doctor."

He grinned, powering up the atomic accelerator.

"I can make things better!"

The engines began to grind, and the TARDIS dematerialised. He remembered the feeling that noise always brought him, and allowed it to consume him.

He had nothing. He had lost everything.

No. He had one thing. He had hope.

The Librarian watched for a moment, as the TARDIS faded away, before she too flickered and vanished.

Silence fell in the Library.


	8. The Stuff of Nightmares

Charlie, alone inside his mind, sat with his arms clamped around his head, rocking slowly back and forth, tormented by the nightmares of a billion, billion souls. He didn't know how long he'd been alone. The image of the Mara had long since vanished, but it was still with him, somehow taunting him without words. It probed his mind, unearthing his darkest memories, amplified by the anguish of the children of the universe. Charlie felt their hope bleeding away, and with it his own. He was slipping deeper into the gaping chasm of hopelessness, and the feelings of worthlessness towards his own existence grew with it.

_You're still holding on, aren't you?_

Charlie tried to shake the Mara's words away, but he couldn't.

_You still hope the Doctor will come back for you._

That was when Charlie realised that those words weren't being spoken by the Mara. They were his. They were his own taunts.

_He won't come back for you. You know that. Not after what you did._

A sound made him raise his head. His tired, red eyes stared into the darkness. The sound was familiar, comforting. It was a blessed distraction from the screams, and the cries, and the moans. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. The scraping, the grinding and pulsing of the TARDIS engines.

The Mara swirled around him, and settled in her female form.

"What did you hear?" she snarled.

Charlie smiled grimly, the elation rising in his chest. "The Doctor… he's come back."

Even as he spoke the words, he couldn't believe it.

The Mara laughed.

* * *

The Doctor stood in the gloom of the Mara's temple once more. The fire from the braziers and torches around the room cast flickering shadows upon him.

The blue crystals embedded in the grotesque figures guarding the Mara's cage were glowing faintly. The distorted effigy of the Mara seemed to whisper malicious words to him.

Shapes moved in the darkness. Figures lurked behind columns. Something slid across the floor, close behind his heels.

The Doctor span around, eyebrows arched. There was nothing there. He relaxed.

"So here we are. A dark place inside, where words and ideas can shape reality," the Doctor's voice echoed around the chamber. "The beings who once worshipped you as a god turned on you, and locked you inside your own temple. But you had a plan, didn't you? A foothold on the outside."

The Doctor stabbed his finger into the air. "The very idea of you pervades the darkness, looking for a way to crawl back into the universe."

Sighing, the Doctor allowed his hand to drop back to his side. He looked defeated, tired.

"I knew something was going on, Charlie, but I didn't realise what it was. The Vyper virus on Solos Nine. The spiders on the moon… they saw it. They were scared of what was inside your head."

The Doctor's eyes snapped shut, a look of shame flashing across his features for a second.

"I'm sorry. It was inside you all that time, Charlie. The Mara was buried deep inside your mind."

He smoothed out the sleeves of his jacket, and stood tall, pensive perhaps, as he continued.

"It's within all of us. Darkness. Stuff of nightmares. It's been a part of you all your life. Festering in your mind. But why you, Charlie? Why is the Mara's presence so strong within you? Is it because of me? The old man with a box that can travel anywhere in time and space? Is it because of … Nathan Slate?"

Charlie's eyes opened wide. _He knew._

* * *

The Doctor did indeed know. He knew, for instance, that it was a Tuesday afternoon in February when Charlie first met Nathan Slate.

It was in an otherwise empty corridor during lunch. Almost all of the other kids were outside; it was a surprisingly warm day, considering the time of year.

People blamed such weather on global warming. However, the Doctor knew better, and on this particular Tuesday, the unusually warm weather was actually due to a foiled invasion attempt by a force of alien, sun-obsessed hermaphrodites.

When the Doctor found Nathan in the corridor, his hearts were heavy.

A group of fourteen year old boys and girls had ganged up on him; tormenting him, throwing him around. Shoving him, grabbing at his shirt, pushing him over. Laughing at him as he picked himself up off the floor, only to throw him back down again. And they mocked and jeered at him, as he made only a feeble attempt to defend himself.

_"Gay boy… Ohh, what is that? That's so gay! Oh, what's the matter, gay boy?"_

The Doctor had seen wonderful things in this infinite, complex universe. And he had seen terrible things. But there was nothing he hated more than this. Bullies.

Humans were his favourite species, but it never failed to stun him when they could be so hurtful towards each other.

The Doctor, his face a mask of bitter rage, strode up towards the gang of adolescents. If only these fourteen year olds knew how insignificant they were in the universe. How their tiny, short lives would soon be over and forgotten. Boy, were they about to come off worse in an encounter with the Oncoming Storm.

"Oi! You lot!" the Doctor snarled, "Haven't you got _PE_ to go to?"

One of the teenagers, about to take another lunge at Nathan, opened his mouth to utter an indifferent retort. But he saw the Doctor's eyes, and in turn, his eyebrows, and his anger – and paled.

In that one moment, the Doctor allowed this human to see him. The _real _him.

The Doctor was a man who had witnessed stars burning out. He had fought in wars. He had ended them. The Doctor was a legend, and armies would tremble at the mere mention of his name. The Doctor wasn't scared of the monsters that lurked in darkness. It was the Doctor himself, whom the monsters feared more than any other being in the universe.

The teen shifted his gaze, and looked meekly at his feet. The others had seen it too, and the Doctor knew they were scared. They were uncertain – uncertain of him, and what he was capable of. With a single nod, the gang's leader indicated that they should leave, and they scattered.

The Doctor relaxed his furious expression, and with a warm smile, offered his hand to the quivering heap of a boy, who had backed into a corner.

Nathan stared up at him in astonishment, his freckles underlining his wide, blue eyes. His dark hair remained surprisingly unruffled, despite the scuffle. He was too stunned to take the Doctor's hand, so the Time Lord crouched down beside him instead.

"Hello. I'm… Mr Smith, the caretaker."

Nathan croaked a shy response: "I… I… thanks… sir."

"Oh, no need to call me 'sir'," the Doctor dismissed light-heartedly. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Nate," he responded before he could think about it.

"Well, Nate. I really don't think you should let those kids do that to you."

"But I don't think… I don't think I could…" Nate stammered, his eyes visibly stinging him.

"The trick is to be scarier than they are," the Doctor informed him.

Nate managed a laugh, and his half-smile lit up his face, until he remembered that he'd just been kicked into the dust, and the smile vanished.

"They've never liked me," he said quietly.

"Well, it's not the end of the universe…" the Doctor interjected, trailing off as he decided it would be best to avoid mentioning that it currently was.

"I just don't understand why…" Nate muttered, dejectedly. "I know I'm different, but…"

"Aren't we all?" the Doctor cut him short again. "Imagine if we were all the same. How _boring_ would that be?"

And there was that smile again. A smile that seemed a little uncertain of itself.

"All right," said the Doctor, brightly, "Where are your friends? Maybe they can help out."

Nate's face fell once more.

"I don't have any friends…"

"Oh, now that's not true," protested the Doctor.

"I don't think anyone likes me," Nate lamented. He seemed on the verge of tears.

"Oh, now I know you're lying…" the Doctor's encouraging words fell on deaf ears.

Nate was staring miserably at the ground, and the Doctor placed his fingers on Nate's temples, and looked into his mind.

As soon as the Doctor reached out, he was blasted by the void that was Nate's loneliness. It was empty, harrowing. He felt rejected by his peers, his parents. The Doctor concentrated, exploring Nate's mind further.

Doubts, insecurities. Maths. Oh, how he hated maths. His crushes… on boys. His embarrassment and anxieties about himself. All those times the other kids joked about him. Why? Why did they tease him? It hurt, and it made him angry. All that anger, he kept caged inside. And… there! The Mara. Even here, in the past. A coiled wisp of a serpent, cowering behind a nightmare. Its yellow eyes glared at him, and it bore venomous fangs, lashing out at his mind.

The Doctor reeled back, breaking the connection. He looked at Nate, who stared at him in confusion.

"What… what did you just do?" Nate whimpered.

"I read your mind," the Doctor replied, softly.

"…Why?" Nate asked, tentatively.

The Doctor's voice was grim. "All across your world, and many more, people are beginning to have bad dreams. Terrible nightmares. And those nightmares are manifesting themselves in the real world. And there's nothing I can do. But you… she's found you, but she can't reach you."

"You're really weird," Nate said, after a moment.

"Thanks…" the Doctor muttered absent-mindedly, staring deep into Nate's blue eyes.

"The Dark Place of the Inside…" the Doctor realised, diverting his gaze, his thoughts wandering momentarily. "There is a darkness within all of us. It's in our nature, as creatures of the universe. But there's always balance. Eventually, an equilibrium is reached – even though it may tip one way or the other.

"Even through all that darkness, and fear, and loneliness… there's hope. Kindness… Love…"

"I – I don't understand what you're saying…" Nate managed.

"There's someone else out there, who's alone, and scared, like you. Will you help me save him?" the Doctor asked, fixing him with hawk-eyed stare.

Nate took a moment to answer, perhaps a little intimidated by the Doctor's stare.

"Yes," he breathed.

The Doctor placed his fingers on Nate's forehead again, and closed his eyes.

"Focus on… something happy?" he ventured hopefully.

Well, there was that boy in maths class – the one who was so kind.

_That's the one!_

He always did what he could to help others. Nate had never quite worked up the courage to talk to him, but he was the one thing that made maths bearable. His name was Charlie.

"He needs your help," the Doctor muttered. "_Save him_."

Swallowed up in Nate's thoughts once more, he frowned, as something called out to him. The Mara had seen him. Words poured out of his and Nate's mouths in unison.

_"Wheel turns, civilisations arise…"_

In his mind, the Doctor reeled back, as the foundation of his knowledge crumbled beneath him, and he felt himself tumbling through a phantasmagoria of his and Nate's intermingled nightmares, blurred together so fast, it was impossible to make anything out, bar the Mara's words. He had heard them before, in another nightmare, long ago.

_"Wheel turns, civilisations fall."_

The Doctor prayed that Nathan Slate would be strong enough to help him fight back. There was so much good in the boy. More than anything he saw in himself.

_"It is the Mara who now turn the wheel. It is the Mara who dance to the music of our despair. Our suffering is the Mara's delight, our madness the Mara's meat and drink. And now she has returned."_

The Doctor tried to escape, down infinite, endless corridors, but the words kept coming closer, louder. Drowning him.

_"The Mara will find you. The Mara will always find you. You cannot escape, for wherever you flee, your nightmares will surely follow. The nightmares will trick you. The nightmares will blind you, and the Mara will bind you in everlasting darkness." _

"Reach out to him, Nate!" the Doctor yelled, "Bring him back. _Save him._"

The Mara was all around him, suffocating his mind. But he was not alone. They were not alone.

"Brave heart!" a voice in the back of the Doctor's mind whispered.

The Doctor jerked back, gasping for air, his eyes open wide. In front of him, Nate was sweating, panic-stricken.

"Charlie!" he realised. He quickly turned around.

The Doctor was aware that he now had only twenty seconds before Charlie would enter the corridor through the door leading to the courtyard.

He reached back, and tapped Nate sharply on the forehead. He immediately fell unconscious, and slumped back against the wall.

Then the Doctor was gone. Unseen. Forgotten. As if he had never been there.

Charlie, aged twelve, strode into the corridor, and stopped, when he spotted a guy he recognised collapsed in the corner. He frowned, and darted over to help.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Nate's eyes flickered open, and he looked up at Charlie, as one looks at an old friend one hasn't seen in a long time. Despite the two of them having never spoken to each other before, Charlie seemed more familiar to him than he should be.

"You're Nathan, aren't you? You're in my maths class?"

"Uh… yeah," Nate mumbled, dazed.

"What happened?"

Nate bit his lip, and rubbed his eyebrow in shame. "The year nines… stole my… lunch money."

It was a lie – one that Charlie would never realise was a lie. Told simply because the truth was far too painful to utter.

Charlie could hear Nate's voice crack slightly, and he rubbed his chin in thought.

"Oh, okay. Well, I've not eaten yet. You can have one of my sandwiches if you like. Then, uh, I think we should go and talk to someone?"

Nate nodded, and Charlie helped him up.

"Hey, uh, I was just on my way to the library. Do you want to come with?"

Nate smiled weakly, and nodded again, desperately trying to hide the tears that were stinging his eyes.


	9. Embrace of the Serpent

"Is it because of Nate?" the Doctor repeated, more quietly. A sad smile crept across his features.

Charlie turned his back on the Mara's image, fruitlessly searching for the Doctor.

The Doctor pushed a knuckle up to his lips, musing on a train of thought for a moment. "Back when we rescued our feline friend, the Empress Galea, you asked a question. You asked if you could 'save him'…?" he recalled. "I wasn't sure who you meant. I had a pretty good idea, but I had to be sure. Now I know. I know what happened."

The Doctor scratched his chin, choosing careful words.

"He's dead, Charlie. Nate's gone. I can't save him. The paradox caused by bringing him back would end the universe. You know I can't do that. Believe me, I've tried."

Charlie nodded, and whispered to himself: "I know."

A booming voice hissed, reverberating around the temple. The Doctor couldn't work out where it was coming from. Everywhere at once, it seemed.

"Very good… very clever… _old man_."

"Where is he?" demanded the Doctor, his voice turning to steel; cold and harsh, "Where is Charlie?"

The creature hissed quietly. "What are you afraid of, Doctor?"

The Doctor closed his eyes in resentment, restraining his rage. "I'm not going to play your _pitiful _little games," he spat. "Show yourself!"

"You came alone, _old man_. Isn't that what you fear? Being alone?"

The Doctor's eyes darted around the temple, and he chuckled.

"You've been inside my head, haven't you?" A smile, which was more of a grimace, played across the Doctor's lips. "But you don't know me at all.

"I've been alone for so long, now…" the Doctor beamed disarmingly, "I'm totally used to it."

"So what _are_ you afraid of?" the Mara's voice boomed.

A figure stepped out from behind the statue of the serpent.

The Doctor watched, eyebrow raised.

Black boots struck the stone surface, as they took deliberate steps towards him. A purple jacket hung over the figure's thin frame. The figure's head was bowed, floppy brown hair concealing its eyes. Slowly, the figure raised his head.

The Doctor recognised that face. That nose. The chin - and a black bow tie beneath it. The Doctor looked into his own eyes – the eyes of the person he used to be.

"Daleks? Cybermen?" he whispered, "The Beast? The Storm?

"No…" The other Doctor held out his arms, taking a defensive stance. "It's me, isn't it?"

"I'm not scared of that," the Doctor growled. "_He_ couldn't run from a Racnoss without tripping over his own shoelaces."

"I think you are afraid, old man. You're afraid of what you were…"

The other Doctor grinned, with a hint of malevolence, as his hands started to glow. His head jerked back, and with a white flash, he transformed, mirroring the Doctor's current regeneration.

"Of what you are…?"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes.

"And of what you will become…"

The other Doctor began to regenerate once more, white wisps rising from his arms and face; the eyebrows shining the brightest. He closed his eyes in pain, and his features began to blur. The hair grew darker, and longer; the body shorter.

"Stop wasting time!" the Doctor yelled. "Show me your true form. Or are _you_ so afraid of _that_?"

The other Doctor roared, and collapsed into the writhing mass of a great, black snake. Yellow eyes, with vicious slashes for pupils, glared at him.

The Mara curled into a wide figure of eight, towering high above the Doctor, whilst the creature's eyes remained level with his.

The Doctor looked beyond the serpent's malignant eyes, and spoke hurriedly:

"I know you're in there, Charlie. And I know you're going to be scared."

"The boy cannot hear you," the snake hissed.

The Doctor continued regardless. "The Mara found its way into your mind on your darkest day. The night Nathan died."

He smiled sadly, as he told Charlie the story he'd pieced together.

"You desperately wanted to save him. And when a far-seeing psychic alien princess said _yes_, _yes you could save him_… I think that was the tipping point. That was all you needed to make this decision."

The Mara's eyes blinked at him, and just for a second, the Doctor swore that he was looking into his friend's eyes, scared and ashamed – but human.

"But you should know, a fortune-telling race like that always speak in riddles. They never actually say what they mean. They just expect you to work it out. Because you can't save Nate. You can't ever go back."

The Doctor bit his lip, gathering momentum as the story reached its conclusion.

"But you can still save someone. And if that someone you save is just yourself… well, that's not a bad thing!" The Doctor threw his arms up, and gestured towards the snake. "You can save Nate – the memories of him – simply by choosing to live, yourself. You don't have to save the universe from the monsters. You just have to save _yourself_, and the people that you love, from _becoming_ the monsters."

Charlie smiled, nodding in agreement. The Doctor was just… speaking so much sense. The Mara had been clouding his vision. The wool she'd pulled over his eyes was starting to unravel.

The Mara snapped at him, and he flinched.

The Doctor watched, in trepidation, as the great serpent thundered in fury. "NO!"

The creature contorted, slithering across itself, like it was in pain, fighting some internal struggle.

"That's it, Charlie!" encouraged the Doctor. "You can defeat it! The Mara is merely a manifestation of the darkest parts of yourself. A disease you can fight off."

"You cannot defeat me, Time Lord. With every child that fears me… every child that _believes_ in me, I grow stronger, and more powerful!"

"I know _I _can't defeat you," the Doctor spoke gravely, "But I've seen you fall before."

Inside the Mara's mind, Charlie screamed, lashing out at nothing, desperate to be heard. He stopped, his face contorted with rage, and pain. He sank to his knees, his efforts spent.

"I've seen entire civilisations rebel against you," the Doctor roared.

It seemed hopeless. Charlie was just one guy.

"I can't do it," Charlie muttered, his eyes glazing over.

"I've seen a single person's beliefs destroy you. All it takes is one brave heart!"

"My best friend is dead," Charlie uttered, exhausted.

The Doctor smiled. "Brave heart, Charlie. Remember what I told you."

Charlie looked lifelessly into the black void in front of him. The Doctor's words were worthless. _He _was worthless.

"Enough!" bellowed the Mara. The snake lunged at the Doctor, pushing him backwards.

He tried to fend off the beast's jaws with his hands, keeping those needle-like teeth from tearing at him. He pushed back against the snake's head, as its body coiled around him.

"You are weak, old man. You have always been weak. I will crush your bones!"

The Doctor gasped, as the constrictor squeezed his chest, trapping his breath.

Charlie knew what the Mara was doing to the Doctor. There was nothing he could do to stop the creature.

The Doctor twisted, his fingers edging towards his coat pocket.

"No," the Doctor wheezed, "you're… the one that's… weak."

He brandished the sonic screwdriver, gripping the copper plates tightly. The silver claws were bared; the tip glowed green – his old sonic screwdriver. With his left hand, he pulled out his second screwdriver.

"You think I came here unprepared?"

"The sonic screwdriver?" realised Charlie. "Two sonic screwdrivers?"

The Mara smirked. "You cannot defeat me with _sound_."

"I'm not trying to," the Doctor hissed, "Remember what I told you. _Brave heart_, Charlie."

Charlie frowned. He felt something weird in his chest. Those words, '_brave heart'_…

"Do you know what happens when I combine the energy of these two sonic devices?" asked the Doctor, staring into the Mara's unblinking eyes, "No, I thought not."

The Doctor held the screwdrivers aloft, close to the snake's head. Red in the left hand, green in the right, the Doctor clamped his eyes shut and held the screwdrivers end to end. A sonic boom penetrated his eardrums; an explosion of noise, surging in volume, leaving his ears ringing painfully.

The Mara released him, flailing and thrashing. Charlie and the Mara screamed as one.

The deafening reverberations were enough to shatter the blue crystals held by the statues. Fragments rained down upon them.

The powerful sonic force blasted the Doctor onto his back, and his head slammed into a stone slab.


	10. Brave Heart, Charlie

_Buzz._

_Click._

He twisted the handle, and pulled the door open.

The house was still. Not a sound - no hum of a refrigerator, no dripping of a tap, no gurgle from the radiator.

He was in Charlie's house. If his calculations were correct, it was moments after a younger, idiot Doctor had come along, and saved Charlie from the Wraith.

The Doctor pressed the front door shut, carefully, so as not to break the silence. In the semi-darkness, the Doctor ascended the stairs, and entered Charlie's room.

Flicking the light switch, he scanned the bedroom. To a mind like the Doctor's, it revealed much about him.

A few books filled the shelves: science fiction novels, by the likes of HG Wells and Douglas Adams; comics and physics text books. They all showed signs of use: well-worn spines and splayed pages. Alongside them, stacks of computer games, discs carelessly scattered about the shelf.

There were maps of planets and stars, which had been tacked to his wall for ages. One of the posters depicted all the planets in the solar system. It must have been there a while, judging by the ninth planet on the chart. There were scribblings on the maps of the stars, where new stars had been discovered, and Charlie had scribbled them all in.

On top of a chest of drawers, remnants of science experiments: bulbs, batteries, magnets, and tangles of wires. There were also a couple of potatoes, which had started sprouting flowers.

It was no surprise then, that Charlie had had such an enthusiasm for physics.

Stepping over an unused pile of clothing, the Doctor sat down at Charlie's desk. The chair complained as it took his weight.

Reams of paper were strewn across the desk, covered in a layer of dust. He swept aside a snapped pencil, and began to turn through the pages.

Ideas. Plans. Sketches. Stories. Designs. Creations and dreams. Superheroes and monsters. Gadgets and aircraft.

The Doctor picked up what appeared to be a biro drawing, depicting the design for the front cover of a book: two men stood back to back, wearing long trench coats, collars upturned. It bore the legend 'Slate and Drake – Private Detectives'. The Doctor smiled sadly.

From underneath the pile of paper, the Doctor unearthed a cracked picture frame. It showed a group of five youths, huddled together, laughing, probably sharing a joke. Definitely happy. Among them, the Doctor spotted Charlie, and Nate – not long after they first met – with, it seemed, not a care in the world.

The Doctor stared at the scene for a while, sorrow in his eyes. He pulled out the sonic screwdriver, repaired the broken glass, and placed the frame in the corner of the desk, where it appeared to belong.

The Doctor was missing something. He could sense it, calling to him. There was an object of great importance in the room, tucked out of sight.

He reached out, his hand magnetically drawn to a poster advertising the tour dates for an indie band called 'Solace and Solitude', as his sharp senses tuned in to the object.

He turned around slowly, increasingly aware of the gaping void beneath Charlie's bed.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed.

Of course. So many things were hidden in the darkness under the bed.

The Doctor was on his hands and knees in an instant, dragging a metal container out. It was the only thing under there.

He hauled it onto the bed, tossing the padlock aside - nothing the sonic screwdriver couldn't handle.

The box was filled with trinkets, the value of which, sentimental or otherwise, the Doctor couldn't ascertain.

Amongst all the artefacts, the Doctor plucked out a folded scrap of paper. He smoothed it out, and scanned the page. It was a letter, written by Charlie. Perhaps not so much a letter as a spider's web of thought, poured into half a side of A4. The Doctor was completely oblivious to the idea that he shouldn't be reading it.

His eyebrows twisted in revelation.

"Oh, Charlie…" he uttered.

Charlie had hidden this away. He'd tried to forget it – and that explained everything.

As the Doctor delved deeper, he found that the surface of the bottom was slightly uneven – there was a secret compartment. It was so well hidden, that it probably wasn't even noticeable to the human eye. Prising it open, the Doctor was presented with an item he had not seen in a long time: his old sonic screwdriver. The claws and green LED preferred by his previous incarnation. He frowned.

'Impossible…' he mouthed, examining the device. There was no question about it: it _was_ his screwdriver. He flicked out the claws in the same flamboyant manner as his predecessor.

"How did this come to be in your possession, Charlie Drake?" he mused.

The Doctor suddenly became aware of eyes on the back of his neck: someone was watching him. The Doctor whipped round, pointing the sonic screwdriver at the doorway. He lowered the tool when he realised who it was.

"Mrs Drake, I presume?" The Doctor stood up, extending his palms to indicate that he meant no harm.

Mrs Drake was wide eyed with shock, and possibly fear.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my son's room? And… and where is he?" her voice was shaking.

The Doctor spoke quietly, but sincerely. "It doesn't really matter who I am. What does matter… is Charlie." His eyes bore into Mrs Drake's, and he spoke more vehemently: "Did you have a dream? A dream, which felt so _real, _but so terrible, that it couldn't possibly be true?"

Mrs Drake's eyes flickered toward an item on the bookshelf – away from the Doctor's piercing gaze.

"Charlie. He was lying there… on the ground. In pain…" her voice cracked, and she trailed off, clapping her hand to her mouth. "Oh God, it was so _real_."

"It was real," the Doctor stated softly. Mrs Drake's eyes met the Doctor's. She didn't want to believe his words, but he could tell that, deep down, she did.

"I know where he is. I will bring him back – safe, I promise."

"Has he… run away?"

The Doctor smiled - a smile of precision. He told her the truth. That yes, Charlie had run away, and the Doctor was filled with remorse for his part in that.

Mrs Drake clapped her hand over her mouth; holding back a tsunami of emotion. She was furious, but she was also terrified, to the point where she looked as though she were about to be sick.

A scratching sound caught the Doctor's attention. As he turned towards the window, it dawned on him that he was no longer safe here. He had stayed in this place for too long, and now the nightmares were coming for him.

He turned to Charlie's mother, carefully pocketing his screwdriver, and spoke sincerely, urgently.

"Mrs Drake. I will find Charlie. Trust me. I will bring your son home."

Without another word, the Doctor left.

* * *

Mrs Drake nodded, left gaping at the empty space beside her. "I know..."

The strange man seemed familiar, somehow, as if she'd seen him somewhere before.

The pile of papers on the desk caught her gaze. She walked over to it, admiring Charlie's drawings. She picked up one of the crumpled sheets, and noticed a second sheet come loose and fluttered back down onto the desk. It was one the Doctor had missed.

It was a drawing of a man, standing on a rooftop, his watchful gaze observing the dark towers of a city at dusk. The man's long coat and white hair seemed to ruffle in a breeze.

She had seen dozens of drawings of him before. It was Charlie's character. The imaginary hero who made things better. The mysterious watcher he had made up to ease his mind as he tried to sleep in spite of his terrible nightmares.

Mrs Drake's eyes widened, and she glanced towards the door. In a rush of thoughts, she realised that this man _was _Charlie's character.

She couldn't believe it. He was real. All those stories Charlie used to tell her as a child… they were true.

Charlie was gone … god knows where. But the watcher was here – and if the impossible could happen, then anything was possible.

* * *

That sonic screwdriver had given the Doctor an idea.

It was building on an idea which had been formulating in his mind ever since he had left the Library, the words of River Song still echoing in his thoughts. Finding the old sonic only served to reinforce his plans.

What he needed to do was broadcast an idea that could bring an end to the Mara's reign.

And so, the Doctor spent a long time in preparation. Biding his time, planning the moment he would return to face his enemy.

Because yes, River Song was right – he had a time machine. He could run to anywhere in time and space.

He couldn't just run blindly. The Mara was powerful. Wherever he hid, the Mara would find him; the nightmares would descend. It reached out, its ever-expanding empire dominating the future, its malicious influence creeping back into the past.

The Doctor had a time machine, but he didn't have all the time it could give him.

He had found out who Nate was: the young boy to whom life had been so unkind, and seen how it had driven Charlie to unleash the Mara upon the universe.

Charlie was the Mara's weapon. It all hinged on him.

* * *

Charlie had a dream. He'd dreamt of a hero.

A hero who chased the shadows away. Fought the nightmares and the monsters, and kept everyone safe. A hero who made things better.

Charlie believed he'd made this person up. He thought this man who made everything better was just a figment of his imagination, brought into being as a way to dispel his nightmares.

He was wrong. The Doctor had always been there.

The Doctor had watched Charlie's mother, Kathy, move into her new home with her two year old son. He'd witnessed Charlie' first day at school, and the day he and Nate had made friends.

He'd made sure Charlie was okay. He watched over him, as Charlie's guardian angel, keeping him safe.

He had saved the boy's life one time, when a car had almost hit him – disabling the vehicle's engine before it got close.

And every night, the Doctor stood guard outside his window. Powerless as the Mara's nightmares reached him, tortured him.

One night, the Doctor took his place outside the window as usual.

He had gone back in time and convinced the previous owners of the house that they needed an extension to the kitchen – mainly so he had a place to sit whilst he watched over Charlie.

To while away those long nights, the Doctor had been working on a contraption. Something to help him when he returned to battle the Mara.

Every now and then, he would check on the boy. The sonic screwdriver had been set up to monitor his vital signs – and alert him if something was wrong.

This was aided by the timey-wimey fact he had three versions of the sonic screwdriver at his disposal. Two in his jacket pocket, and one which would be hidden under Charlie's bed until he eventually found it later. Or was that technically earlier…?

He wasn't sure how old the boy was, now. He was still a child. Eleven? Twelve? Forty? Was that too high? You could never tell with humans.

Distracted by his thoughts, the neural relay - currently a dense chunk of metal with wires splayed out of its body like the legs of an insect - slipped from his fingers, and landed on the roof with a loud _thunk_.

The Doctor's eyes snapped shut in frustration. Charlie would almost certainly have heard that. If he hadn't been awake, he was now.

A few seconds later, the curtains were pulled back. Charlie had decided to investigate.

The Doctor backed up against the wall, cursing. The boy had seen him. He needed to be more careful.

He gave it a moment, and glanced through the window again. Charlie was still there, white as a sheet, wide-eyed as he watched the Doctor peering in through the window.

"Ah," the Doctor breathed. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He pulled out the sonic, and opened the window.

Charlie backed away, as the Doctor stuck his head through the window with a grin.

"What are you doing?" Charlie whispered nervously.

"It's alright. I'm here to help," the Doctor quickly explained. "You've been having nightmares?"

Charlie nodded.

"I can help. I promise."

"Really?" Charlie uttered sceptically.

"Yes. May I, uh…" the Doctor gestured towards the window.

Charlie nodded, so the Doctor clambered through.

He knelt down, matching the boy's height, and spoke softly.

"The nightmares are worse than ever. I know – I've seen them, too."

The Doctor looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up into Charlie's eyes.

"You're probably wondering who I am?"

A nod.

"I'm the Doctor. I've been to the most distant stars, I've seen alien worlds far beyond your imagination – galaxies that defy the laws of physics. And I've fought monsters like the ones in your nightmares. Time and time again, I stop them – and I keep people like you safe."

Charlie's mouth hung open in awe.

"I promise, I'll always be there, looking out for you, protecting you from the monsters. When the time is right, I will come and find you, and I will save you. Someday soon, I _will_ be there for you."

Charlie nodded again.

"But for the moment, you're going to forget me." The Doctor tapped him on the forehead. The boy's eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed. The Doctor caught him, and carefully placed him back in his bed.

He was about to leave, return to tinkering with his device, but the Doctor had his idea.

This was his opportunity. He could place a latent psychic message within the boy's subconscious. Over time, it would give him strength enough to beat the Mara.

"Just one more thing," he whispered. "You'll remember this. It's very important. It is perhaps the most important thing you will ever know."

The Doctor took a deep breath.

"Kindness. Just be kind. While the Mara spreads fear, spread kindness. Use the Mara's weapons against it. When you wake up, you won't remember me. But you will remember that. You will remember to be brave, and kind."

The Doctor stepped away, clasping the window frame.

"Brave heart, Charlie."

He watched the boy for a moment. He was calm, for once. For now, he might forget the nightmares that tormented him.

He left, covering up any evidence he had ever stepped foot inside the house.

Every night, he muttered to himself: _"Brave heart, Charlie." _It reinforced the ideas he had planted in the boy's mind. Hopefully, it would give him the courage to do the right thing.

Other than this one time, he had never interfered. He had never let himself be seen. Charlie would never know how long the Doctor had been watching over him.

But then, nor would all the others.


	11. My Mara Don't

Charlie shook his head, as he returned to consciousness.

He spotted the Doctor, using the sonic screwdriver to join some wires to a piece of equipment.

He slithered across the floor towards him.

_Wait…_

The Mara grabbed his mind, and yanked him away from the scene. He tumbled back into the darkness, and landed on something.

He was dazed for a moment, but that yawning sense of dread quickly reasserted itself.

For a moment there, he'd been back in control!

The Mara hissed at him, invading his thoughts.

_You are not in control._

"Now's our chance, Charlie!" the Doctor roared.

Charlie tried to reach out to him, but his hands were bound.

Then he remembered that he didn't have any hands. He didn't have a body.

His mind was inside that of a giant snake. His movements were not his own.

The Mara slithered around the columns at the edge of the temple, watching the Doctor assemble his equipment.

"You're a prisoner in your own thoughts. But this will allow you to break free."

The Mara coiled around the TARDIS, slipping over the cascade of cables streaming out of it.

"I've destroyed all of the psychic stones – the Mara's transmitters," the Doctor explained, waving the sonic towards the centre of his makeshift circle, "apart from that one."

There was a blue crystal propped up on the claws of the Doctor's other screwdriver. The device had been inserted into the contraption which the Doctor had worked on over a number of nights as he watched over Charlie. As the sonic buzzed erratically, it emitted a harsh pulsing light, and random, painful sounds.

As the Mara and Charlie approached it, the noise penetrated their eardrums, more intense the closer they got.

It was a barrier, keeping the Mara away from the Doctor's equipment.

"The boy is dead, Time Lord," the Mara boomed.

"No he's not," the Doctor scoffed, turning his back on the creature, and getting back to work. He thumped the worn wooden casing of an old television set.

"You need him _alive!_" the Doctor roared, "Otherwise you won't have a host – or a transmitter."

The television set crackled into life, taking a few minutes for the screen to fade into a spinning pattern of circular Gallifreyan.

"The Mara is a gestalt entity. It needs others to survive. It needs you to survive, Charlie."

The Doctor turned to the next device – a tablet, and began linking them together, sharing the images across the strange assortment of screens positioned around the temple.

"You're the focal point," the Doctor pinched his fingers together, demonstrating his idea visually, "It channels its energy through you, amplifying it across the universe, reaching every living soul…"

The Doctor's fingers spread, blossoming in a dramatic gesture.

He whipped his fingers back into his pocket, eyebrows knotted.

"Oh, and Charlie – if you can hear me, because I know you can – don't you dare use that as an excuse. Your life is worth so much more than that."

The Mara chuckled.

"What?" the Doctor stopped what he was doing, and peered at the snake, its thick, scaly body pressing up against the stone ceiling and the cold walls.

"You actually think you can defeat me, don't you, old man?" the Mara simpered, hissing through its fangs with a forked tongue. "Your friends are your weakness. They will be the death of you."

The Doctor spread his arms out, wide.

"Go on, then."

He flicked the switch on the sonic screwdriver, and the remaining blue crystal shattered. The Doctor's defences were down.

"Come and get me."

The Mara's shining yellow eyes narrowed.

The Doctor grinned. "Or are you afraid of _me?_"

That, Charlie realised, sent the Mara over the edge. It hated the idea that it was not in control.

"You do not know fear," the Mara bellowed, rushing towards him, rearing up to strike him down.

It rose above him, in the centre of the Doctor's circle.

The thought occurred to Charlie before it did the Mara, that the Doctor had just provoked them into falling for his trap.

Incensed, the Mara pounced. The Doctor leapt out of the way, stumbling over the Mara's twisting tail.

He reached over to a socket protruding from the side of a screen, and thrust the sonic inside.

"Sorry, Charlie."

The world erupted.

Screens burst into life, flashing distressing images into his eyes. A psychedelic kaleidoscope of confusion, torture, disgust.

"The Mara fears itself," the Doctor taunted the creature, "It's so evil, it's repulsed by its own reflection. _Hates_ the sound of its own voice."

Every screen showed images of snakes, writhing, slithering, darting creatures. Videos, cartoons, CGI. There was the TARDIS' recreation of the events on Deva Loka, trapping the Mara in a circle of mirrors whilst it thrashed around, vying to regain control.

Charlie struggled to distinguish between images of the Mara, and images of himself. Video footage of him embarrassed, in pain, making a fool of himself, alone, afraid and crying. He was seeing all the pictures of his own face that he hated – he couldn't escape them. Everywhere he looked, he couldn't escape these visions.

"Surround the Mara with images of itself, and it loses control."

The Doctor's words were grim, but he was speaking with such intensity, such fervour, that Charlie might even suggest he were enjoying it.

"And what if it's not just you? What if you're repulsed by _anything_ sharing your image?"

The Doctor danced around the circle of flickering television sets, pointing out all the fictional snakes he could name.

"Kaa from the Jungle Book. Sammy the Snake. That one from Harry Potter. Ooh, look! Hissing Sid!"

He paused, thoughtful for a moment, ignoring the Mara's screams of horror and disgust.

"This is _really_ gonna confuse the archaeologists…"

The Doctor chuckled, thrusting a finger into the air.

"Oh, and one more."

He delved into his pocket, pulling out Charlie's phone.

The Mara was confused – Charlie could feel it too. But it was difficult to focus on what the Doctor was doing. The rest of the world was too loud – all those screens showing all those memories were blinding them.

_"Selfie!"_ the Doctor cried, bounding over to the Mara's side, and snapping a picture.

The snake reeled back, as though burned by an intense light.

The Doctor's eyebrows rose in amusement, examining the image of him, alongside the Mara, its forked tongue comically stuck out; crazy eyes wide, caught off guard.

"In all seriousness though," the Doctor continued, plugging the phone into one of the screens, quickly adding it to the loop of pictures.

"What if those ridiculous images of you go viral? What then, hmm?"

He shrugged, dismissing his words, as though it were merely a trivial matter.

"What if Charlie sees them, remembers them, shares them? Uses your network of minds to broadcast these images to everyone trapped inside your nightmare?"

Of course – if Charlie could hear all those minds, and all those nightmares, then there was a link. They might be able to see what was inside his mind.

"What if a being of fear becomes a source of laughter?" the Doctor circled the Mara, sharing his thoughts in an explosive jumble of words, "These pictures become a kind of inoculation against you. Share and like! Don't forget to subscribe… uh, yes…anyway…"

The Mara was flopping uselessly on the stone slabs now, lacking the strength to raise its head.

The Doctor cautiously approached the struggling snake, and knelt down beside it.

"You see, I can't defeat you, not on my own." The Doctor's voice was gentle now. "But I know you can be weakened."

"No!" the Mara bawled. The sound petered out in a rasping gargle.

"You have a chance to take over, Charlie," the Doctor urged, "Finish the job."

His fingers hovered above the fading eyes of the Mara, searching for signs of life.

"It sounds impossible. It probably is. The Mara is incredibly powerful." He smiled. "I won't think any less of you if you lose."

The snake's scaly form began to flex and coil, winding itself into knots.

"But whilst the Mara is strong, so are you. The Mara is strong, but strengths can be turned," the Doctor continued, rising to his feet. "You're a dreamer, Charlie. You dream of better things. You've seen the Darkness. You've known it. Known how it feels."

He took a few steps back, as the Mara's head whipped round, its glowing eyes locked onto him.

The Doctor's features were frozen in an expression of alarm, but his words remained strong.

"You've seen the nightmares of my darkest days. But don't _ever_ let it stop you dreaming."

The Mara was stirring again, recovering its strength.

"Dream, Charlie. Dream of a better world. Dream of a world without the Mara!"

The Mara hissed, revealing its venomous fangs. "Your plan won't work this time, Time Lord. Mirrors can be broken."

"That's seven years' bad luck," the Doctor quipped, hastily retreating, "But then, what's that to us? I must have broken at least three hundred and twenty nine mirrors in my lifetime. Very careless."

_"I will destroy everything!"_ the Mara screamed.

The Mara whipped round, smashing all of the Doctor's equipment to pieces. Television sets, computer screens – everything. It all shattered, glass ground into dust, until there was nothing left of the dreadful images.

The Mara's fury was terrifying. The pure rage in her eyes instilled fear in the Doctor's hearts.

The Doctor backed away, towards the safety of the TARDIS.

The thought crossed his mind that his plan might have failed. He hadn't weakened the Mara. He'd just enraged it.

The giant snake lashed out. The Doctor dodged the creature's tail, and leapt behind a stone statue.

The Mara's tail sheared clean through it, and a huge column of stone came tumbling down.

"Get out, Charlie," the Doctor yelled. "Get out while you still can!"


	12. Time To Stop Running

Charlie ran.

The Mara, lost in anger, was distracted. The Doctor's plan had been enough. It had given him a chance to make a break for it.

He wasn't sure where he was running; a forest, it seemed, where the sky was a vivid magenta.

He stopped, to stare up at it in awe.

The forest was still. Silent. The creatures of the early hours were barely stirring.

The great serpent that was the Mara had not followed him. She had not seen where he had run to, in the confusion wrought by the Doctor.

He had escaped.

He laughed.

The Mara didn't need to see. She had been with him this whole time. She was always with him.

A crippling pain surged through Charlie's arm, bringing him to his knees.

He cried out, his fingers clenching the undergrowth.

He felt an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach, pressing against his skin, writhing around inside him, pushing, trying to break out.

The pain shot through his arm. His cuts and scars began to move, and slither… like a snake. As it moved, each cut was renewed – relived. Its swollen head, blood red, tore itself from his skin. He cried out, and the snake lashed at him, sinking its fangs deep into his neck. The serpent broke free from his body, and dropped to the floor.

"You're the Mara." Charlie spluttered, breathless, clutching his wound. "That's what _you _really are."

The snake grew, longer and bulkier, scales smouldering to black, eyes glowing yellow.

"Run," it hissed. "_Run!"_

The Mara chased Charlie through that alien forest. He had pushed himself to his feet as quickly as possible, but his wound had weakened him. The creature was snapping at his heels. God, it was fast.

The uneven surface did not deter it, though the vines and dying twigs snagged the hem of Charlie's jeans, threatening to trip him.

The snake seemed to grow as Charlie ran. It barrelled through the forest, felling trees as it grew to an enormous size.

Then she caught him. The Mara surrounded him, cutting off any escape with its body.

Charlie looked up into the snake's eyes.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No," the Mara simpered, her fearsome snake head orbiting him. She darted closer, as if to strike.

But then she shrank, morphing into her human form. The form that taunted him, tricked him into believing she was something she was not. Tricking him into thinking that they were alike.

The girl grabbed his arm, and pulled him towards a cliff edge.

She grabbed his shoulder, and leaned him over the precipice. Charlie tried to resist, but scared he might lose his footing, he remained still. The girl's iron grip was the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Just watch," she whispered in his ear, "See the futility of your struggle. And surrender."

He could see a burning city miles below them.

Time began to speed up, and Charlie witnessed the obliteration of this city. It crumbled to dust in fast forward. He could only watch.

The ground lay devastated for hundreds of years. Eventually, the soil became fertile. Life returned, and a new city was built.

He had never seen this place before, but he knew exactly what was happening, as a new civilisation rose from the ashes.

There was a person here. They had an idea. An idea which came from a dream.

It was a most fantastic idea, and that idea changed the world.

An empire grew, standing strong for thousands of years. It was an empire built on hope, and peace, love and understanding.

However, the thought that something so pure could exist brought something else into the world. There has to be balance. For every good, there is an evil to counter it.

That balance was the Mara. She threatened to destroy everything this civilisation stood for. Empathy turned to ignorance. Admiration turned to envy. Acceptance turned to temptation.

And hope turned to fear.

The irony was that the kindest, most peaceful people in the universe had created an entity of hatred and lust, which desired chaos over order, and ravaged them in unimaginable horrors.

He had just witnessed a birth of the Mara. Her empire swallowed this world. Monuments rose in her honour. Shrines and temples dedicated to the tyrannous being that ruled this world.

Charlie could see the spires of the temple where he had fallen.

This empire did not last.

Over the centuries, those spires crumbled to dust, but the ruins of the Mara's shrine remained.

Empires rose, and empires fell. Often at the whim of the Mara, when she grew tired of the people who worshipped her, feared her, or when the nations united against her and sealed it away in its own shrine.

The Mara always remained. Sometimes present, sometimes absent – there only in mythology, legend. But always her influence remained; the mark of the serpent, scarring the world.

Over time, the Mara's web expanded.

She sprang up on other worlds – Manussa, Deva Loka, Eden, and many more. Seeds of doubt and deceit turned whole planets into chaotic nightmares.

"You see, I am a fact of nature," the Mara hissed. "I am an inevitability."

Charlie twisted round to face her. The Mara's eyes were aglow as she absorbed the scenes of destruction below them.

"What happens if I give in? What happens if I surrender to you?"

The Mara smiled. "Then I let you go."

She released him, and Charlie's stomach lurched.

* * *

The image of the Mara had gone – and so had the world around him.

He was somewhere else. This time, he knew exactly where.

She had let him go to the place he most wanted to go in all of time and space.

The exact spot he had hoped the Doctor would take him: outside his best friend's house, the night he died.

He was here to save him. Save Nate.

Forget the rest of the universe. It had all gone to hell anyway.

That's when he heard the sound of the TARDIS engines.

The Doctor was here to stop him.

The Doctor would try to use _logic_ and _reason_ with him. If the Doctor arrived, he would lose any chance of saving Nate.

The TARDIS materialised with a thump, and the doors swung open.

It was now or never. He _had_ to save him.

"No!" the Doctor yelled, as Charlie grabbed a rock from the garden.

"You know what this is," the Doctor growled, stepping out of the police box, and cautiously approaching him. "Temptation."

Charlie was poised, his arm drawn back, ready to throw the rock at Nate's window.

He would throw the rock at his window, wake him up, and save him.

He couldn't bear to look into the Doctor's cold, calculating eyes.

"This is the Mara, giving you exactly what you want, so it can get what _it_ wants,"

"But if I can get his attention," Charlie desperately grappled with the words, "let him know… know that…"

The Doctor's arm patted his shoulder.

In that moment, Charlie lost everything. His tense muscles let go; the rock slipped from his fingers, clattered to the ground. He couldn't do it.

He looked up at the Doctor. Those eyes weren't cold at all. They were understanding. Brimming with kindness.

"Maybe I coulda just… talked to him?" Charlie's voice was small.

The Doctor shook his head; a sad, pained smile fixed upon his features.

"_Why_ would you want to put yourself through this all over again?"

This time, Charlie couldn't stop himself. The tears escaped, seeping through his trembling fingers as he tried to block out the vision around him.

"I'm trying to pretend that I'm not scared of this. That I'm not scared of what's happening inside my own head," Charlie spluttered between heavy, heart-rending sobs. He was a mess.

"But I am, though. I _am_ scared."

He tried to rub his tears away, but more kept coming.

"Doctor, I need help."

The Doctor walked over. Laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He nodded. Smiled. Of course it was okay to ask for help.

Charlie was silent for a few moments, taking deep breaths as the dizzying headache of distress subsided.

"Don't give up, Charlie," the Doctor urged. "We can't stop, just because the world has ended. Right now, I'm out there, fighting for you."

Charlie remembered where he was. He glanced over at the house, shrouded in darkness. It was the only thing here. The rest was nothing - like a badly rendered environment in a video game.

"You're not real, are you?" Charlie realised.

"I'm the Doctor."

Charlie smirked. "No," he said quietly. "I think you're just a construct inside my head. The bit of me that's trying to talk sense."

The Doctor shrugged. "Think what you like."

He frowned. "But time's running out, Charlie. There's something you have to face. It's been eating you up – it's driven you to _this_.

"The end of the universe. Because you can't admit one thing. Your guilt."

Charlie sighed. He listened to the Doctor's words. He listened to the truth – as painful as it was to hear.

"Inside that box, the one that you keep locked under your bed," the Doctor whispered, his tone surrounding him with a blanket of empathy, "and threw away the key.

"The things you wrote, and hid away inside that box. You wrote all these words, all those notes. You poured your heart out, and shut it all away."

Charlie clasped his hand over his mouth. He remembered. He remembered the words he wrote on those old scraps of notepaper. He remembered how he felt.

"There was one thing you wrote down in there. One thing you wanted so desperately to forget."

Charlie nodded. "Yes…" he struggled to utter.

"You loved him. You loved him back," the Doctor spoke softly.

And there it was. The truth.

He had shut it away, because he was scared and ashamed. He had pushed those feelings down, and they'd dragged him into despair.

"I…" Charlie croaked.

Nate had been the most important person in his world. He cared about him more than anyone else. He wanted him back in his life, because he loved him.

"I was waiting. I was waiting 'til I was ready." Charlie tried to explain it all away, but his excuse was useless.

"Never wait 'til you're ready," the Doctor insisted, "You'll be waiting until the end of time."

"I was just… scared," Charlie admitted, tearing his gaze away from the Doctor's kind eyes. Somehow, the idea that the Doctor understood why he had done everything he had done was too much for Charlie to deal with.

"I was scared of things changing. I didn't want to lose him."

Charlie shrugged, the aching muscles in his shoulders fought to stop him speaking.

"I'm so lost without him… Doctor, what do I do?"

"I can't solve all of your problems, Charlie. That's something you need to work out for yourself."

Charlie swallowed, his throat painfully dry.

"Then… tell me how to stop the Mara."

"The Mara's a part of you," the Doctor explained, "It's deeply ingrained within your consciousness."

"It's tied to me? Without me, it'll stop? So I could…?"

The Doctor's eyebrows flickered. He understood what Charlie was trying to say.

"Yes, the nightmares will end if you die. Without you, the Mara loses her connection to the universe."

Charlie shut his eyes. If he were to die now, would it really stop? Would the Mara be defeated, or would it just use someone else?

Would it take his mum, manipulate her through her grief?

He looked up at the Doctor, hoping he would be able to answer his questions without having to be asked.

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. Even if you die, the Mara will keep coming back."

"But…" Charlie uttered, his a wave of drowsiness beating him down. "It's exhausting…"

This fight was _so_ exhausting. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't allow anyone else to get hurt. He couldn't bear the thought of another act of unkindness.

"I don't want to die," Charlie admitted, his courage failing him. It didn't look like he had any more options.

"Then stop running," the Doctor urged, his voice a whisper, burning with his ancient energy, "You can't face the Mara, until you face yourself. You have to resist the Mara's temptations. She's trying to win you over by showing you what you want most."

"Nate…"

"Nate's gone, Charlie. You have to accept that."

Charlie nodded. He could barely meet the Doctor's eyes.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have tried to change the past."

Charlie shrugged, looking up at the Doctor, who seemed unsurprised by what he was saying.

But of course, this wasn't the Doctor – it was a figment of his imagination.

"Maybe UNIT was right," Charlie continued, defeated. "Maybe all of them were right. I shouldn't be travelling with you."

"You sure?" the Doctor queried, with a cheeky gleam in his eye. "Because I think you're okay, Charlie Drake."

"I'm sure," Charlie said, finally resolute. Finally sure.

The Doctor blinked, patting his jacket, seemingly unsure how to respond. His expression betrayed a sense of disappointment, yet ultimately – reluctantly - acceptance.

"It's agreed then."

The Doctor offered his hand, and Charlie shook it.

Their eyes met. The Doctor's lip curled into a smirk.

"Too formal?"

"Yeah, too formal," Charlie conceded.

The Doctor released him, and went for a hug instead.

Charlie found himself comforted by the Doctor's embrace. It felt like he was understood. It felt like someone cared. He needed that hug, even as his guilt swelled in his chest. He had betrayed the Doctor's trust. He needed to make amends.

"I'm sorry," he began.

"It's okay," the Doctor replied gently, "Charlie, you're forgiven. You just need to forgive yourself."

Charlie caught his reflection in the grimy window of the Slates' house.

How could he forgive himself? For anything he'd done?

He couldn't bear to look at his own reflection. He hated it. He reviled it.

It took a moment for him to realise that it wasn't his face he was looking at. It was the fanged jaws of the Mara.

He broke free from the Doctor's hug, and backed away.

It was the Mara in the window. That was his reflection. _He _was the Mara. He was standing in his own way.

"We're not out of this yet," the Doctor exclaimed, his hand outstretched, shielding Charlie from the Mara, as it began to writhe and slither through the glass towards them.

The creature hissed, _"I am never going to let you go."_


	13. Drake's End

The very sight of the Mara coiled in front of him crushed all of Charlie's strength.

As he backed away, feeling very, very small and useless, the Doctor stepped forward, standing tall.

Charlie had seen the Doctor do this many times. He had faced down monsters unafraid before.

"Don't forget who stands in your way!" he roared.

The Mara's tongue flickered; it almost shrugged indifferently. "Not you, certainly."

It seemed to smile, as the ground ruptured; claws of vines broke through the dying soil, binding the Doctor's hands. The vines grew larger, tighter, thorns scratching his fragile skin as black roses bloomed from the stem.

The Doctor fell to his knees, subdued. Defeated.

He looked over at Charlie.

"I wasn't referring to myself."

If this Doctor was just a figment of his imagination, as he had concluded, then it wasn't really the Doctor standing up to the Mara. It was him. It was Charlie. Brave hearted Charlie.

"The name of the Doctor is deeply entwined in the fabric of the universe," the Mara's poisonous words teased him, a mocking undertone displaying its contempt towards the Doctor.

"You're the most powerful Time Lord that's ever lived."

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Many would. But you're nothing, aren't you? You're just like every other child of the universe, scared and alone. One day, you'll be dust. And all that will remain is your name. The mere idea of you."

"Sometimes that's all you need," the Doctor retorted, the Mara's bonds failed to supress his greatest weapons: words. "The right idea. Ideas are more powerful than you know."

He flicked his head towards Charlie. "I've left one idea festering in that boy's mind. A little snippet of me! The idea of the Doctor. The promise of the Doctor – someone who makes things better. Someone who is kind!"

The Mara's repulsive head was swaying from side to side, glaring at them both, a hint of uncertainty showing in its yellow eyes.

"Don't you see?" the Doctor laughed. "This is all him. This is all Charlie. Accidentally unleashed the power of the Mara on the universe, because he was once kind.

"Charlie!" he was speaking directly to him now, "You know this isn't real. But that doesn't matter. Find something that's real _no matter what_.

"Love? No… pain! Use it. Use _him_. Remember the bond of friendship you shared with Nate. Remember the pain of his loss. Remember how much it hurt. But don't let it consume you."

"It's okay…" Charlie uttered, struggling to think over the echo of blood thumping painfully through his skull.

"You can't stop the nightmares," the Mara growled.

"No, but we can stop you," the Doctor spoke defiantly, "There's just one thing that kid needs to do. He knows what it is."

Charlie reached his hand out; the Doctor and the Mara framed momentarily in the 'L' between his finger and thumb.

Control was within his grasp. The kind of control held by a lucid dreamer escaping from their nightmares.

The image of the Doctor, bound in the roses, faded, as Charlie walked over, and took his place.

He was going to do what the Doctor did. He was going to make things better.

"It's okay to feel sad," Charlie said. It was as much a realisation within himself as it was an explanation to the Mara. "It's okay to feel powerless."

"You _are _powerless," the snake hissed. "You fear me."

"Yes," Charlie admitted, standing his ground. "Yes, I do.

"But it's okay. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to need help."

"No help is coming for you, boy."

"Shh!" Charlie uttered gently, raising a hand. The Mara fell silent, astonished that it had done so.

He was stuck in an endless nightmare, chased by the Mara. It would never let him go. It would always catch up with him.

The Mara was a part of him.

He was only running from the Mara in one sense. But really, he was running from himself.

His fears were what gave the Mara its power. And Charlie was afraid of what he was.

He had rejected a part of himself. Avoiding that part of himself had allowed the Mara into his mind.

It was time to stop running. It was time to stop trying to change the past. It was time to confront his nightmare - confront himself.

"You are part of me, which means I am part of you," Charlie reasoned. "I see all that you are, just as you see all that I am. I am Charlie Drake. I am the Mara."

He stepped closer to the creature, closing the distance between them.

"You spread fear wherever you slither. But why? It makes you so alone. The children fear you. Families hide from you. _I_ fear you."

"I _revel _in it!" the Mara bellowed.

"You hate it!" Charlie yelled. "You hate everything about yourself. You hate who you are. You despise what you've become!"

He gestured towards the glass, reflecting the both of them.

"It's why you're so repulsed by your own image. You can't bear to look at yourself!"

The snake watched him, its head drifting from side to side again, ready to strike.

Oh! And there it was.

People across the universe were fighting back. Fighting with him. He could see it – clearly as if he were there, with them.

They were facing their fears. Looking out for one another.

He wasn't alone.

Back home, on Earth, the forces of UNIT were battling the horrors humanity had dreamt up. They were driving them back, into the dark. They were winning.

There were others, too. Others fighting back against the monsters.

Charlie didn't know who they were, but he felt there was a connection. A thought in the back of all their minds.

The Doctor.

They were the Doctor's army. All the people on Earth whose lives he'd touched.

Some fought with weapons. Others with alien gadgets. But more importantly, there were some who were not fighting at all. They were just trying to help out, help others who were scared or in danger. They were just being kind.

Charlie saw these patterns all across the universe – not just on Earth. Other worlds the Doctor had visited. He had saved them, and he had made things better.

He didn't recognise any of these worlds, but he did glimpse the traces of the Doctor in them.

No, there _was_ one world he knew:

A little Myrox girl feared the wrath of the machines, but she was not alone. Elders were with her, finding the words to comfort her. Her planet was no longer a battlefield. The machines were now memories. Nightmares. They would fade away, come morning.

He could draw on those ideas of kindness. Those ideas could overwrite the Mara. He could win this.

"No!" the snake roared, lunging at him, sending them both crashing to the ground. The snake curled around his wrists, bound his ankles, restraining him, pinning him down.

"I will tear you apart!" it hissed.

"There's nothing left for you to do," Charlie said with a smirk of contempt, despite the Mara's attempts to crush the breath from his lungs.

"This is me. I'm done, and so are you. We're weak. Your powers are weakening.

"But there's something you've missed. Fear doesn't just make you afraid."

_Fear can make you kind, _the Doctor had said.

"People are capable of exceptional courage in the face of fear. People… are extraordinary. People _unite_ in the face of evil! You've made them stronger!"

The Mara continued to hiss at him, weaving tighter around his chest, cutting his final moments shorter.

"But Nate… _Nate_," Charlie drew a deep, shaky breath, "I was so afraid of myself. I was just… so afraid. I'm afraid of what I am, just as you are."

He looked into the eyes of the snake. The Mara didn't understand him. It was so resolute in its beliefs, it could barely comprehend Charlie's calm confessions. The Mara expected him to fight. To be scared; to buckle in fear.

"I try _so _hard to be nice… to be kind. Because I'm afraid that I might become _this_…"

Charlie felt his body shift; he threw the Mara aside.

Looking down at his own body, he saw that he had transformed into the Mara.

"I might become the monster I'm afraid of," he hissed.

The creature cowered under Charlie's furious glare. He turned away, revolted by the Mara's hatred – and his own hatred.

"But Nate, I'm sorry. I am so sorry for what happened to you. I am afraid that I wasn't good enough - that I am not the person I want to be. I'm afraid that I won't be someone who _can_ make things better."

He turned on the Mara's quivering form.

"You've been whispering that to me all this time. That I'm not good enough. But now, I'm telling myself: you don't have the right to define me."

Charlie shrugged. He realised he had shoulders – he was a human again.

"I'm just who I am. That should be enough."

Charlie stared into the eyes of the snake, and spat the words in its face:

"_And that's okay._"

He crouched down by the Mara's limp, tangled body, his arms resting casually on his knees.

"Can you hear that?" he asked.

The Mara blinked, its head swinging left and right, listening.

There was nothing. No screams. No crying. No nightmares. Just for a single moment – no nightmares!

"Your control over all of space and time has gone," Charlie spoke, his hushed voice was loud amongst the silence.

"You can never truly defeat me," the Mara growled. "You can never escape from me. I will haunt you for the rest of your miserable existence. You cannot stop me! You don't have the _power_ to stop me!"

The Mara reared up, struggling to hold its eyes level with Charlie's. He was unimpressed.

"No. I don't," he agreed with a shrug. "I'm not special, in the grand scheme of things - never mind what the Doctor says."

Charlie's conversation with the Mara was quiet, calm. It wasn't a battle. No fight to the death. No final lunge for victory. It was just the two of them face to face in the darkness, talking.

"I don't think I have the power, or frankly the energy, to destroy you," Charlie continued. "I mean, I'm sure it's possible, but… I think trying to destroy you will destroy me too."

_Always mercy. Always kindness. _The Doctor's words surfaced in his thoughts. _No one is unimportant. No one is worthless. _

The emotions were building up inside of him. Hope. Relief. His words couldn't convey how he was feeling.

"I don't _need_ to destroy you," Charlie was almost pleading with the snake, encouraging it to understand. "I don't need to become something powerful, something stronger. I am enough."

"Sure, I could be a little better," he grumbled, "But hey, maybe I can still work on that. But right now, I am enough!"

Charlie stopped, and stood up. His hands were swinging at his sides, powered by gentle forces of momentum; the physics of this reality restored to Charlie's understanding.

The snake was just staring at him, now, waiting for him to end this. To strike the final blow.

The Mara's power was gone. Without his unwilling obedience to transmit its will throughout time and space, the Mara was cut off from its playground.

"So yeah. You want a big spectacle, now, don't you? A big showdown. You go down in a blaze of glory. I stand triumphant - Charlie Drake, defender of dreams."

Charlie smiled, almost apologetically.

"It's not gonna be like that. It's gonna be pathetic. Massive anti-climax."

"You're just gonna go now. Go back inside that dark place inside my head. 'The Dark Place of the Inside.' Back to your prison."

Finally, Charlie could think clearly.

This was him. Forgiving himself. Accepting himself. Yes, Nate was gone. He would have to move on.

And now, the Mara was under his control. Because the Mara – or this very small splinter of the Mara festering inside his mind, at the very least – was part of him. He could think what he liked of it.

He was mindful of its existence, but payed no heed to it.

"No!"

The Mara was thrashing furiously with the last vestiges of its energy, desperately trying to resist. It couldn't bear to end without a threat of violence, without chaos.

He sighed, wondering how the Mara might try to reignite the bonds of terror she had held over him. It couldn't. Charlie wouldn't let it.

It writhed over the dark floor. The ground was no longer a void of fictional space – Charlie was able to make out patterns: brickwork, perhaps. Stone slabs. Things were making sense, now. He was free of the Mara clouding his judgement; free from its smokescreen obscuring his reality. The Mara was under _his _control.

The Mara's serpent form began to quiver, and change, morphing into the body of Samara, the girl he met in the nightmare conjured up by the creature.

Her eyes were wide, and afraid.

Charlie frowned, tired of its tricks.

"Please," she begged him, "I kept you safe. I always kept you safe.

"I've always been there for you. Even when the Doctor wasn't – I was still there."

Charlie regarded her for a moment. She was in human form, hoping that would be enough to evoke an empathetic response from him. He smirked.

"Thanks for your opinion," he muttered sarcastically, "But I didn't ask for it."

She growled, some deep, guttural noise, unleashing the last of her rage. Her jaws opened wide, like a snake, and suddenly, she was a serpent once more. She always had been.

Charlie smirked again. "Sorry, I thought that was quite good."

"It was."

The Doctor's voice.

The Mara's movements were erratic now, as she shrieked in horror. The Mara's rattlesnake tail whipped round, and struck Charlie in the temple.

Charlie collapsed to his knees, pressing his fingers to his forehead. He was bleeding.

Man, did that stone floor look comfortable… maybe he'd lie down there for a bit.

The Doctor was by his side in an instant, catching him as he fell to the floor.

The Time Lord watched, as Charlie's human eyes focussed on him. The boy was back in control.

"Charlie!" he cried, ecstatic. "Charlie, that was brilliant. You – are brilliant."

Charlie shrugged, smiling shyly.

"Thanks."

"The ceiling's coming down. You were lucky. That rock only grazed you." The Doctor looked around, as the temple began to shake. "In fact, I think this whole place is coming down. We have to get out."

The Doctor now seemed to be checking for concussion, shining a medical torch in his eye, observing the dilation of Charlie's pupils.

"Doctor?" Charlie ventured.

"Yeah?" the Doctor replied, half distracted by his examination of Charlie – making sure he really was okay.

"I need to stop running," Charlie said. He needed to explain the things he had worked out, trapped in the Mara's mind, but he wasn't sure how.

The Doctor nodded. "I know."

Charlie felt exhausted. The drowsiness of sleep was tempting him.

"I just want… I just want to go home." He gave in, and closed his eyes, descending into a warm oblivion.

"Don't we all?" muttered the Doctor. "Let's get you out of here, before a boulder crushes us both to death."

He picked the boy up, carrying him in his arms, back to the safety of the TARDIS.


	14. We Will Remember

Charlie felt warm sunlight on his face. It was pleasant. Relaxing. He opened his eyes. It felt like he'd been asleep for a long time.

He looked at his clock. It was the same date. The same day he'd left with the Doctor. He sat up and groaned, pushing his face into his hands.

"Oh, God, no. Don't let it have been a dream."

As he raised his head once more, his eyes rested on a photograph. _That_ photograph. One that he hadn't looked at in a long, long time. It was standing up in its proper position. Perhaps his mum had picked it up while he was asleep.

Confused, he moved over to it, slouching back in his old desk chair. He picked it up, regarding it with a lopsided smile, and ran his fingers around the frame. There was Nate, with his arm slung casually over Charlie's shoulder. Just looking at that picture brought back all those great memories. And the bad ones, too, but he wanted to honour all of them.

His fingers reached the corner, and then he remembered. He'd smashed the frame, when he'd thrown the picture from his desk. But now it was fine. Someone had replaced the glass.

Charlie's frown slowly dissolved, and his eyes lit up. He laughed. He laughed a joyous, deep laugh.

He carefully placed the picture back in the corner of his desk, and dropped to the floor, grappling under the bed for the metal box. He pulled it onto his lap. The padlock. The padlock was gone. He was about to pull the box open, but hesitated.

The Doctor must have opened the box, mustn't he? It had to have been real.

Then he realised: it didn't matter whether his journey with the Doctor was real or not.

The Doctor, even as a figment of his imagination, had shown him amazing things. He'd shown him the past, and the future. The Doctor had shown him his world. It was the same mundane world, but somehow, he saw it differently.

He understood, now. He understood that, while his world has a history, it also has potential. Infinite potential.

Charlie clicked open the box; the hinges squeaking as he lifted the lid. Tentatively, he emptied it, carefully laying out the objects on his bed. And there it was, at the bottom. The thing he most wanted to see. He smiled, tucking it away in his pocket.

A few moments later, he found his mum downstairs, hunched over her morning coffee. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept well again.

Charlie hung in the doorway for a moment, biting his lip, hesitant.

His mum looked up, smiling; radiant in the morning sunlight.

"Mum, I'm sorry... I...I-" he stuttered.

"I know," she said.

His mum pushed her chair aside, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug.

"It's okay, Charlie," she muttered softly, "It's okay..."

* * *

_Several months later..._

_"They will not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn."_

Kate Stewart glanced up. Everyone's heads were bowed, staring introspectively at the ground, listening to the verse read by the chaplain. Some wept silently.

It was late in the morning, and UNIT was holding a service to remember the lives of the bravest of humanity, who lost their lives defending their world.

By her side, Private Martin Stone stood, staring into the middle distance, his thoughts far away.

Emily Simmons was a short distance away. She happened to look up, and they gave each other a small smile.

Behind her, lingering discreetly at the back of the crowd, trying not to be noticed, was Osgood. Kate had not seen her in some time. She liked to keep to herself – especially since their disastrous encounter with the Master, when Osgood's doppelganger had been killed in action. Kate wondered if that was what she was thinking about.

_"At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."_

They all stood in silence, mourning. Just remembering. Remembering the fallen. And remembering those they had left behind.

* * *

Charlie was walking down the street, his heart racing.

He walked with his hands thrust into his pockets, and his hood pulled up over his head to keep off the light drizzle that had just started.

He paused for a moment, noticing a solitary red poppy growing in someone's front lawn.

It was a burst of crimson amongst the dry, brown soil of a flowerbed someone hadn't bothered to look after. Yet this resilient little poppy was growing regardless.

Charlie wasn't quite sure why it had caught his eye, but it made him smile, a little. It kept him smiling, as he carried on down the street.

_"As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, moving in marches upon the heavenly plain. As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness… To the end, to the end, they remain."_

He eventually stopped outside the doorway he'd been through countless times before. He hadn't been here in many months. But Charlie knew that if he stepped through now, it would be for the last time.

This wasn't going to be easy. If he wanted, he could turn around and go back home. But he wasn't going to. As soon as he rang the familiar doorbell, it was decided.

It took a few moments for the door to open. A tired, frail woman stood in the hallway, gaping at him in shock as soon as she laid eyes on him.

"Charlie?" she croaked.

"Hello, Mrs Slate."

Nate's mother opened her mouth to speak again. It took her a few moments to summon the words.

"Are you... okay? What… what are you doing here?" she asked.

Charlie had been thinking about what to say for the entire walk. He had thought of a hundred things to say. And even then, what he finally said was not what he had planned.

"I came here to talk to you," he explained, quietly. "There's something I've been running from. And I think I need to stop."

Mrs Slate looked him up and down quickly, and seemed to finally realise that Charlie was standing outside in the rain.

She stepped aside, and muttered a hasty 'come in'.

Charlie shuffled through the doorway, shrugged off his soaking hoodie, and hung it on the coat rack.

Mrs Slate led him through to the kitchen, and gestured for him to sit down at the table, as she began boiling the kettle.

"Uh… where's Mr Slate?" he asked.

"He's gone. He's moved out," she grunted bitterly.

It sounded bad, and Charlie instantly regretted asking the question. He didn't need to hear any more to deduce what had happened.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He watched Mrs Slate solemnly, as she busied herself by making two cups of tea. She avoided eye contact with him all the while, and he could tell from her demeanour that she was weary, drained. He doubted she would ever properly recover from Nate's death.

After a few minutes, she placed the mug carefully on the table in front of him. He accepted it politely.

"Your mum told me the school let you resit your exams?" Mrs Slate muttered.

"Yeah. I passed. Not the best, but okay," Charlie shrugged, hurrying the conversation along. "So I'll be leaving for university in a few days, and..."

Charlie toyed with the rim of the cup, as he tried to change the direction of his words.

Nate's mum was quiet, waiting for him to speak.

"I just want to say… that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that what's happened, happened."

Mrs Slate nodded.

Charlie shrugged, trying to express his thoughts in the right way.

"There's… really nothing more I want… than for him to walk back through those doors…" Charlie said, staring at the kitchen doorway, all but visualising Nate leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"And smile…"

"I hadn't seen him smile in two years," Mrs Slate said.

Charlie looked back at her, and saw the sorrow and emptiness in her eyes. He recognised that emptiness – he'd seen it in his own eyes. It was the same grief.

"Two years?" wondered Charlie.

Nate had told him that he'd had arguments with his parents, but had refused to tell him what the arguments had been about. He'd said that it was a disagreement he'd had with them about how much he was doing around the house, but Charlie could tell that he was lying. Idiotically, he had shot Nate down in his arrogance, and straight up told him that he knew he wasn't telling the truth.

But now, given all that had happened since, Charlie could piece everything together.

"Did he…?" Charlie surmised, a little apprehensively, "Is that when he told you? That he was gay?"

Mrs Slate's eyes widened a little at the mention of the word.

"Yes," she mumbled.

"And what happened?"

"…His father… was… upset," Mrs Slate said, rather sharply.

These must be bad memories for her, Charlie realised. Considering the impact those arguments had on Nate, she probably didn't want to remember them ever happening.

"He didn't want his son to be…" Mrs Slate faltered.

"Gay?" Charlie finished for her. Why was there such fear around this word? Of course, it had once had the same effect on him.

She nodded.

"And what did you think? What did you think about him being gay?"

"I don't know," Mrs Slate shook her head dismissively, "I didn't really…"

She took a deep breath. "It doesn't even matter anymore."

Charlie shrugged. "Should it ever have mattered?"

"Yes. Of course it mattered. He was my son. My boy. I didn't want anything to happen to him…" Mrs Slate stopped, turned to stare out of the window, pressing her lips together in bitterness. "Of course it didn't matter. But he expected us to react in the way we did."

Charlie raised his eyebrows, trying to express sympathy.

She turned back to him.

"Badly." Mrs Slate examined his eyes. "He must have told you, too. How did you react?"

"Badly," Charlie admitted. "I'm not saying I have the 'moral high ground' by questioning how you reacted. It's just… the _way_ he told me. It was… a bit of a shock."

"What do you mean?"

Charlie sighed, trying to carefully avoid saying exactly what had happened.

"It was at a party, a few months before it happened."

Mrs Slate's eyebrows twitched in disbelief, as she realised what that meant.

A terrible, awkward silence passed between them. Charlie broke it first.

"I think… I mean, I realise you probably blame me for what happened…?"

Mrs Slate opened her mouth to object, but once again, the words were trapped.

"And maybe, you blame yourself as well?"

Mrs Slate's silence marked her agreement.

"But the only person whose fault is it, is him," Charlie said, carefully, "And I don't think either of us can bring ourselves to think any less of him. All we can do – the _least_ we can do, is to think of him."

Mrs Slate frowned, trying to understand Charlie's words.

"To remember him."

Mrs Slate nodded.

"I think… yes. Please excuse me a moment." Mrs Slate stood up, and disappeared, upstairs.

Charlie waited patiently for her to return, drinking his tea, and thinking of Nate.

Mrs Slate came back a couple of minutes later, and pressed a silver object into his palm.

It was Nate's ring.

"I think you should have it," she said kindly.

Charlie thanked her.

It was strange looking at it. It was tied to Nate in his memories, evoking images of him awkwardly rubbing his fingers, twisting this ring. Charlie examined the engravings on it. He couldn't remember how long Nate had owned it, but he'd never really looked at the markings: a circle, with three lines striking through it. He wondered what it was supposed to represent.

"Nathan…" Mrs Slate spoke, "he used to talk about you a lot. Whenever he came home from school, he'd always tell me what the pair of you had gotten up to that day. He'd tell me about all the things you'd told him. What he'd learnt from you."

Charlie listened, staring meekly into Mrs Slate's eyes.

"Secret codes. Quantum physics. Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy!"

Charlie smirked at the memory, momentarily lost in it.

"He was… always so happy just to be your friend, I think," Mrs Slate spoke kindly.

"But over time, he stopped." Mrs Slate's mouth twitched, deeply confused. "He stopped telling us things. I suppose I should have seen something then, but… I never…"

"I know," said Charlie.

A tear rolled down Mrs Slate's cheek. "He was my only son…"

Charlie nodded, reaching out to her, trying to console her.

"Nate's gone, Mrs Slate. You're gonna be angry. You're gonna be sad. And that's okay. It means that you cared."

She nodded, dabbing at her tears with a crumpled tissue.

Charlie continued, with a smile, "My… Doctor said: we can't stop, just because the world has. It happened. We have to accept that. And it's happening somewhere else, right now."

Mrs Slate looked up at him, her eyes pink. The meaning of his words dawned on her.

"I just wish he'd talked to me. Or to you. Or to anyone."

Charlie spent a few more minutes with Nate's mother, and eventually decided that he should leave. He should move on.

"I'm glad we could talk," Charlie said.

Mrs Slate hung in the doorway, as he stepped back into the street.

The rain had begun to plaster his hair to his forehead, as she stared across the street at all the drab houses. He pulled his hoodie back over his shoulders.

"I really wish we could turn back time, and do everything right," Mrs Slate said, after a while, "But we can't."

"No," Charlie agreed, his thoughts pondering on the Doctor and the TARDIS; the temptations of the Mara, whispering its poisonous words to him.

"No, we can't."

* * *

He hadn't won, not really. Because these are not the kinds of battles you can win.

The story goes on, and the pain stays with you forever.

Whilst we can do our best to make sure the pain doesn't spread to anyone else, we know that sometimes, our efforts are in vain. No matter what you try, there's nothing you can do to help.

But that should never stop you from trying.

It should never stop you from trying to make things better.

* * *

_**The Twelfth Doctor's adventures are over.**_

_**For now…**_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Thank you for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it - a special thanks if you've followed Charlie's story since _Lucid Dreams - _it feels like a lifetime ago since I started. **


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